


Cocktails & Chasers

by sweetautumnwine



Series: Cocktails & Chasers [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Bartender AU, Chrollo only appears in ch. 5, Kidnapping, Light Bondage, M/M, Porn With Plot, Shibari, Torture, also idk if the violence in ch. 5 and ch. 6 are considered graphic but JUST IN CASE, also note that until chapter 5 this is only leorio and kurapika, because underaged drinking is Not Cool, it's not super intense but still, the bondage and the kidnapping are SEPARATE THINGS FYI, the ratio of porn to plot is definitely skewed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-06 09:12:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13408053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetautumnwine/pseuds/sweetautumnwine
Summary: Leorio is a bartender just working toward payday. Kurapika sits alone, waiting for someone who will never come.





	1. Cherry Whiskey

Kurapika laced his fingers and bowed his head, his glass of water untouched. He sat alone at one of the tables. Only a few other patrons remained, scattered, contentedly sipping on cocktails and ales.

 

By the shelves of various alcohols, a wide collection of both imported and local brands, Leorio wiped the inside of a whiskey glass, watching.

 

The blond man had arrived more than two hours earlier, frequently checking his pocket watch—a bold yet suitable fashion statement, Leorio decided—and slumping farther onto the table as time passed. Dusk had long since passed, the light of the street lamps glowing orange in the glare of the small window by the door. Without the sun’s influence, the bar’s interior appeared darker.

 

Leorio didn’t like working the closing shift. He had to strain his eyes when pouring, and as young as he was, the nightlife just wasn’t for him.

 

As he observed the blond man, Leorio felt something close to pity, though not quite as sincere. It was nameless. When the glass in hand was dry, he replaced it on its proper shelf and paused, noticing the was the blond hairs shifted across the man’s knuckles, imagining how soft they would be against his own skin.

 

 _Something sweet but with a kick._ The thought was sudden, but he found himself moving in spite of himself, drifting to the shelves. He caught his eyes, somewhat feverish, in the mirrored backing. _Cherries, crushed beneath ice. Whiskey. A splash of cherry liqueur_. He began mixing the drink, absently, glancing over at the man.

 

Kurapika straightened, a frown settled uncomfortably on his face. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, and for a moment, Leorio thought he saw redness in the man’s eyes.

 

He didn’t leave, just stared at the back wall of the bar, drumming his fingers methodically against the table.

 

When Leorio sat the glass down before him, Kurapika’s upward glance seemed almost murderous, but the expression soon melted into confusion—a silent interrogation.

 

“What is this?”

 

“Ah, well, you see,” Leorio stumbled over the words, not having expected an immediate confrontation. He folded his hands across his stomach and cleared his throat. “I thought you might want something to pass the time.”

 

The man stared down at the glass for a moment before reaching for it, fingers curling around the thick glass. He took a sip, and his delight, however fleeting, was transparent. “It’s good,” the man said. He took another sip, and Leorio watched him swallow. “How much?”

 

“On the house.”

 

The blond narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

 

“You’ve been waiting a while, I thought…” Leorio huffed, arms crossed. “Just be grateful.”

 

He inspected Leorio’s face thoroughly. Swirling the contents of his glass, Kurapika smirked. “You’ll lose business if you give away too many drinks, sir.”

 

“It’s not ‘sir,’” Leorio snapped. The blond paused, his glass pressed to his lips, one eyebrow cocked. “It’s Leorio.”

 

“Kurapika,” the blond said with a nod of recognition. Leorio nearly extended a hand, but the man had already turned his attention to the drink in hand.

 

Kurapika downed the contents of the glass and returned it the table, cushioning it with his pinky. He traced his lips with a finger, collecting the lingering drops, and popped it in his mouth. Even in the dimness of the bar, Leorio could feel his cheeks growing red. But he didn’t move. The man rested his elbow on the table and leaned his cheek into his hand, looking up at Leorio with hooded eyes.

 

“When do you get off?” he asked.

 

Caught off-guard, Leorio swallowed. “Not until 3am, maybe later.”

 

“A shame,” Kurapika said, tracing the lip of the glass. “You’re a good bartender, you know that?”

 

“Ah, thank you—”

 

“I’ll come again,” Kurapika said, rising from the chair and draping his jacket over his shoulders. “And next time, I’ll pay you double.”

 

Leorio stared at the empty space left in Kurapika’s wake. A whirlwind. There was something strange yet tempting about him.

 

“Barkeep!” A man at the end of the bar called, hiccuping through his stupor. “Pour me another!”

 

Kicking himself, Leorio raced around the bar, hoping the blush burning his cheeks would slip off in his haste. “Right away!”

 

* * *

 

True to his word, Kurapika returned a few days later. Autumn had relented, allowing the temperatures to rise, and Kurapika took full advantage of the weather, opting for a light jacket, slung over his shoulders, and dark shades shielding his eyes. When he noticed the top of Leorio’s head barely peeking above the counter, he sidled up to the bar while Leorio was preoccupied and kneeling. The evening crowds had dissipated, making way for the late night patrons Leorio dreaded. Luckily, his hours had shifted, but not so much that he could escape before the drunken regulars stumbled in. At the very least, in the meantime, he was able to devote himself to cleaning.

 

He sighed, crouching by one of the sinks, as he reached for the spare dish soap stored at the back of the cabinet.

 

“Tough night?” Kurapika asked.

 

Leorio jumped, narrowly avoiding the rim of the sink as he stood. When he saw who had spoken, a strange, lilted laugh escaped him. “You came back,” he said.

 

“I told you I would,” he said, leaning across the bar. “Didn’t you believe me?” He gazed up at Leorio with parted lips, curled at the corners.

 

Leorio nearly choked. He scrambled for the damp rag he’d left on the bar and resumed wiping it down, tracing forceful circles along the surface. Kurapika’s eyes never left him.

 

“So—what can I do for you today?” Leorio said, resuming his professional tone. His voice had assumed its normal timbre. He retrieved a dirty martini glass from farther down the bar and brought it back to the sink, rinsing it with cool water.

 

Kurapika watched him, peering above his glasses. “Give me a Blow Job.”

 

The glass shattered against the sink, Leorio’s fingers still curved slightly in its shape. He turned, mechanically, toward Kurapika, who bit the edge of his lip, waiting. “ _W-what_ did you say?” Leorio sputtered.

 

“Oh, you’re cute.” Innocently, Kurapika removed his glasses, taking inventory of the bottles before him. “A Blow Job. The shot,” he clarified, though his lips twitched upward as he spoke. “Surely you’re familiar with it.”

 

“Right. A Blow Job. I’ll give— _G-get_ you one in a moment.”

 

“Would you like some guidance? A little assistance?”

 

Ears hot, Leorio didn’t answer, busying himself instead with the task of plucking the glass from the sink, dropping the shards into a trash can behind the bar. When a piece snagged the skin of his thumb, he instinctively dropped it, a sound of mild agitation hissing through his teeth.

 

Kurapika rose from the stool and seized Leorio’s wrist before he could resist. Inspecting the slit, Kurapika pursed his lips, then glowered at Leorio. “Be careful,” he said, his tone surprisingly soft. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

 

“Ah, yeah. Under the sink, but—”

 

“Grab it.”

 

“It’s just a scratch—”

 

Kurapika tightened his grip, deepening his frown. “Don’t make me climb over this bar,” he warned.

 

Leorio swallowed something stronger than fear and warmer than intimidation. Pulling away from Kurapika’s grasp in a calm manner, he bent his knees to peer into the space below the sink. With his uninjured hand, he searched in the darkness and retrieved the kit. After he rose, he sat it on the bar and looked Kurapika in the eye, wagging his thumb. “It already stopped bleeding,” he said. “Don’t need the first aid kit.”

 

“It could still get infected,” Kurapika said, unsnapping the latches and popping the lid open. “Bleeding or not, you have to disinfect it.” He sifted through the items, then paused and looked up. There was a hardness in his gaze that paralyzed Leorio briefly. “If you don’t even know that much, you must have someone really nice taking care of you at home.”

 

He allowed the comment to sink into silence and resumed pulling things—alcohol wipes, antibacterial ointment, a small bandage—from the box. He held out a hand, and Leorio instinctively placed his hand on Kurapika’s palm. He took to wiping the cut, the motion tender.

 

“I live alone,” Leorio finally said. Kurapika paused for a moment, then applied the ointment to the injury.

 

“I see,” he said. As he peeled the adhesive off the bandage, he smiled. “Then maybe you’ve employed someone to—”

 

“No,” Leorio cut in, flexing his thumb and inhaling sharply through his nose. “There’s no one.”

 

Kurapika closed the first aid kit and pushed it closer to Leorio. “It’s a wonder you’re still alive.”

 

Shrugging, Leorio replaced the kit beneath the sink and gripped the edges of the sink. “Some say I’m adaptable,” he said. “I just think I’m hard to kill.”

 

“Maybe,” Kurapika said, staring blatantly at Leorio’s lips. With all the excitement of the evening, Leorio, to his own surprise, didn’t even blush. “Well, now that that’s taken care of—where’s my Blow Job?”

 

“Right. Coming right up.”

 

Kurapika cupped his cheek with his hand and hummed. “You changed your tune pretty quickly,” he said. “Thought you’d show me those cute rosy cheeks again.”

 

Leorio produced a shot glass and sat it on the bar, pouring in the liqueurs. As he shook the can of whipped cream, he noticed Kurapika following the motion with only his eyes. The can sputtered at first before Leorio adjusted his grip. After wiping away the mess, he slid the glass toward Kurapika and nodded.

 

“Your… Blow Job.”

 

“Looks delicious,” Kurapika said, spinning the glass with a single finger. He furrowed his brow and inspected the tip, sucking off the excess. “A bit sticky, though.”

 

Pressing a fist against the counter, Leorio could no longer conceal the redness of his cheeks. “Just drink it already. _Please_.”

 

“Pushy, pushy,” Kurapika said, raising the glass. “But if you insist.”

 

He tipped his head back and gulped it down. Leorio lifted his head and noticed how the hard cartilage in Kurapika’s throat rose and fell, rhythmically, with the silent action of swallowing. When he finished, he tipped the glass in Leorio’s direction.

 

“Are you afraid to make a mess?” Leorio asked, earning a raised eyebrow and a low inquisitive hum in response. Leorio pointed to the glass and spoke smugly. “That’s a drink you’re supposed to take with your mouth, nothing more.” He cracked a smile. “The way you took it is just a sloppy Hand Job.”

 

Kurapika licked the traces of whipped cream from his lips and set the empty glass down. “Well, I’m a fan of both, aren’t you?”

 

Breath lodged in his throat, Leorio opened his mouth but couldn’t respond. He smacked his lips together and shook his head dismissively. “I can’t win,” he said.

 

“I wasn’t aware this was a competition,” Kurapika said, guiding the glass closer to Leorio. “You never even had a chance.” From his pocket, he withdrew a few bills and placed them on the bar. “It’s been fun, Leorio. The Blow Job was excellent. I’ll stop by again if I get the chance.”

 

He rose, draping his jacket over his shoulders and placing his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, before turning to leave. He’d barely moved two steps before Leorio called out.

 

“I get off at eight.”

 

Kurapika looked over his shoulder, an unfamiliar yet dazzling smile gracing his lips. “You free afterward?” Leorio nodded—perhaps, in hindsight, a bit too eagerly. “Good. I’ll see you then.”

 

When he left, the door swinging shut behind him, Leorio immediately splashed cool water on his face and pressed a dish towel to his skin, relishing the clean scent. His pulse made his fingers tremble, and he let out a shaky breath, lips quivering.

 

Leorio wanted nothing more than a stiff drink and a quiet, secluded room to— _think_ , _catch his breath_ , _reflect on his sins_ , or… something like that.

 

 

 

* * *

 

For the reference of those who are of legal drinking age **only**.

 

_Cherry Whiskey Smash _

Ingredients:

  * Cherries, pitted
  * Ice, cubed
  * 2 oz whiskey
  * 1 oz cherry liqueur
  * Club or lemon-lime soda (if you want a mixer)



Directions

  * Layer the bottom of a glass with cherries and _crush them_ (to release the juices)
  * Add ice cubes, whiskey, and liqueur (in that order, probably)
  * Top it off with soda if you want and stir
  * Garnish with a cherry like the socialite you wish you were



 

_Blow Job_

Ingredients

  * ¼ oz Bailey’s Irish cream liqueur
  * ½ oz Amaretto almond liqueur
  * Whipped cream



Directions

  * Pour the Amaretto into a shot glass (gently, like a lover)
  * Follow it up with the Bailey’s without mixing things up
  * Top it off with a generous amount of whipped cream (you can always save some for later)
  * You’re _supposed_ to drink this shot by gripping the glass with your lips and tossing your head back, but you could use your hands (though _that_ would just be a hand job)




	2. Roman Holiday

Kurapika leaned against the outer wall of the bar, just beneath the overhang, a lit cigarette propped between his lips. He let it burn without inhaling, let the ash accumulate and the smoke curl up past his nose and sting his eyes.

 

The phone nestled against his palm hadn’t lit up in hours. He’d returned to the bar half an hour early, content to wait though the temperature had dropped enough to make his breath visible. His fingers grew stiff against the device, itching for a vibration or some notification.

 

Despite his patience, a call never came.

 

He checked the time. Five minutes past eight.

 

The door to his left swung open, wobbling on its hinges, and Leorio burst through, flipping the end of a long, thin scarf over his shoulder. As the door closed behind him, Kurapika pocketed his phone and dropped the cigarette, a trace of smoke hovering before his eyes.

 

“How long were you planning on making me wait?”

 

Leorio turned toward him, heels slipping on wet leaves, and exhaled a short grey cloud, lips parted and upward curling. “Sorry,” he said, sheepishly fluffing the hair at the back of his head. “Had to take care of a few things. Were you waiting long?”

 

“I was joking,” Kurapika said, stepping toward him. He looked up at Leorio’s face, the sharp lines which concealed his gentle mannerisms and easy blush. “It’s a bit cold, but would you like to take a walk?”

 

Looking up to the cloud-pocked sky and gauging the temperature, Leorio let the gentle breeze cool his cheeks, thankful for the darkness. When he brought his gaze back down, Kurapika was looking at him expectantly. “I’d love to.”

 

When Leorio had agreed to Kurapika’s suggestion, he had expected a stroll around the bay or even a subway ride to the city’s agriculture center, where the massive gardens were housed. Instead, Kurapika led him deeper into the heart of the city, down narrowing streets in unfamiliar parts. He didn’t speak, but his frown settled into his face with harrowing lines. Leorio walked close to Kurapika’s side, eying the alleys.

 

“If you want to hold my hand, all you have to do is ask,” Kurapika said over his shoulder, still facing forward. Sputtering, Leorio couldn’t respond, having been startled by the sudden speech. Kurapika chuckled, the sound low and pleasant. “You’re easy to tease,” he said. “We’ll only be going a bit farther.”

 

Leorio wanted to inquire further, but something about Kurapika’s air stopped him. Perhaps it was the stiffness of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders; whatever it was, Leorio felt something colder than the night air and wondered whether he made the right decision in following him.

 

Soon, they came upon streets filled with neon signs and flashing theaters. Kurapika paused before a building illuminated with pinks and reds. He turned back to face Leorio with a smirk. “We can occupy ourselves here. You seemed a little pent up.”

 

Leorio looked up at the sign and grew utterly chagrined. Strip clubs, hotels, various establishments of questionable integrity.

 

The flush of his cheeks was almost painful, and he took a step back, out of the light, lips fumbling for words. “You—you—you _bastard_.”

 

Kurapika couldn’t help himself. He laughed. He brought a hand to his face, partially covering his mouth and eyes, and felt a twinge in his stomach as he bent slightly forward. Leorio watched, uncertain. His frustration overcame him, and he spun around with a huff, fuming, and began retracing his steps.

 

A hand reached out and grabbed Leorio’s wrist, but the grip was firm, not aggressive.

 

“Wait,” Kurapika said, having recovered from his laughter. When Leorio turned, he noticed the sincerity in Kurapika’s eyes, the softness of his lips. “It was only a joke. I’m sorry.”

 

“You laughed,” Leorio said.

 

“Only because you showed me a different side,” Kurapika said. “You called me a bastard. I liked that.”

 

Though Leorio felt the anger fighting to remain, he knew how easy he was to sway. As bitter as he wanted to be, his words betrayed him. “If _that_ isn’t what you had in mind,” he said, “what was?”

 

Smiling, Kurapika shifted his hold, curling his fingers around Leorio’s palm and resting his thumb against Leorio’s knuckles. “Come with me,” he said.

 

Wary, Leorio resisted, but he felt himself surrendering to the warmth of Kurapika’s hand. However reluctant he wished to be, he followed after Kurapika dutifully, past the bright lights until they came upon a small building, constructed of various stones and illuminated by a gas lamp.

 

Kurapika paused before the door. “I’ve always come here alone,” he said, refusing to meet Leorio’s eyes. “If you don’t like it, you can leave.”

 

“I’ll stay. Even if I hate it, I’ll stay.”

 

Kurapika looked back, eyes flickering to Leorio’s face, and smiled tightly. “God, you’re something else,” he said, turning the doorknob.

 

Inside, a film flickered from an overhead projector onto a bare wall. Along the opposite wall were tall round tables and chairs. Only a few were occupied by quiet patrons, sipping dark drinks and contentedly watching.

 

“What _is_ this place?” Leorio asked, lowering his voice.

 

“Quiet. Come with me.”

 

Kurapika led him through a swinging door at the end of the room, and they emerged in a long room, the only feature of which was a polished bar. The bartender nodded at their entrance and withdrew two tall glasses, pouring a clear concoction with slim leaves into each.

 

“I work at a bar, you know,” Leorio muttered. “Why’d you bring me to another one?”

 

“So you can relax,” Kurapika said so softly Leorio wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear it.

 

When Kurapika released Leorio’s hand and veered toward the bar, a strange hollow sensation arose in Leorio’s chest, but he disregarded it to the best of his ability. Kurapika rested a hand on the barstool and looked back at Leorio, motioning with his eyes for Leorio to approach.

 

“Your drinks,” the bartender said, sliding the two glasses forward. Kurapika raised the drink in thanks and took a sip.

 

As the bartender vanished into the kitchen, Leorio inspected the glass. “What is this?”

 

“A Roman Holiday,” Kurapika said, taking two coasters from a stack and passing one to Leorio. “Go on. Try it.”

 

Leorio brought the glass to his lips. It was sweet, but not overtly so, and perfectly refreshing. “I like it.”

 

“I thought you might.”

 

They sat without speaking for a few minutes. The denser the silence, the more antsy Leorio grew. He listened to the muffled music—a faint piano piece that almost seemed nostalgic—from the film in the next room, and without realizing, he nodded to the tune, allowing its soft melody to alleviate the awkwardness threatening to suffocate him.

 

As he sipped his drink, he felt Kurapika’s eyes on him. Tilting his glass, Leorio said, “This is nice.”

 

Kurapika scoffed. “Is it?”

 

“It’s peaceful.”

 

“And here I was worrying that you were bored. Glad I took you somewhere quiet.” Biting his lip, Kurapika raised the glass to his lips, failing to hide his smirk. “If I’d _really_ brought you to a strip club, you might have had a stroke.”

 

“I’m not a prude like you seem to think,” Leorio snapped. Calming himself, he sighed. “I just like to know what I’m getting into.”

 

Staring at the remnants of his drink, Kurapika hummed in thought. “How do you feel about rope?”

 

“That’s a bit random, don’t you think?”

 

“Oh, just answer the question.”

 

Leorio considered it. “Well, I’d say it’s useful and sturdy.”

 

“Ah,” Kurapika said. “ _I’ve_ always thought it possessed a unique aesthetic—beautiful, in some way.”

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever thought that fondly of rope,” Leorio said strangely, watching Kurapika’s fingers catch condensation.

 

“Rope has its uses, though,” Kurapika mused, as though he had not heart Leorio’s comment. “I urge you to consider it more in the future.”

 

“Right…”

 

Downing his drink, Kurapika withdrew his pocket watch to check the time. His phone remained hidden, untouched. After replacing the watch and resting his left hand on the bar, he turned to Leorio with inquisitive eyes. “You’re uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

 

“No,” Leorio said without hesitation. “I’m just thinking that we know nothing about one another.”

 

Kurapika looked away. “Isn’t that just how this sort of thing goes?”

 

“You know where I work and what I do,” Leorio said. “I know your name. That’s it.”

 

“Curious?”

 

“Of course I am,” Leorio said, leaning closer. He dared to rest his hand atop Kurapika’s, fingers overlapping. “Why don’t you start by telling me what your job is.”

 

With concealed delight, Kurapika looked at their hands. “I can’t tell you that,” he said, lifting his gaze. “For that, I am sorry.”

 

“How about where you’re from?”

 

Kurapika gritted his teeth. “Can’t tell you that, either.”

 

“What do you do every day?”

 

“That’s treading too closely to my work, don’t you think?”

 

Leorio smirked. “I thought it was worth a shot.”

 

Kurapika shook his glass, ice clinking against the sides. “Anything else you’d like to ask?”

 

“Family?”

 

“Classified.”

 

“Hobbies?”

 

“None to speak of.”

 

“Favorite food?”

 

“Haven’t got one.”

 

Leorio squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly. After a few extended seconds of thought, he opened his eyes and pointed to Kurapika’s head. “Is that your natural hair color?”

 

“Well, wouldn’t you like to know?”

 

By then, they both realized they were grinning. Leorio brushed his thumb over Kurapika’s hand.

 

Kurapika grazed his bottom lip. “You don’t want to probe anymore?”

 

With a disgruntled sigh, Leorio said, “You’re mysterious. I’m content with that.”

 

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Kurapika said, leaning close enough to whisper directly in Leorio’s ear. “I’m enjoying myself tonight. With you.”

 

Leorio tried to suppress the shiver that traveled up his spin, but the skin of his forearms developed goosebumps. “Me, too.”

 

Rising, Kurapika said, “Regrettably, it’s getting late. I’ll walk you home, if you’d like.”

 

“While I’d appreciate it,” Leorio said, scratching his head, “I live quite a distance away.”

 

“Oh? How far?”

 

Leorio provided the address, and Kurapika nodded. “The trains have stopped running by now, as well,” he said. An uncharacteristic frown settled on his face. “It’s my fault for dragging you into the city. I’ll take responsibility and walk you home.”

 

Begrudgingly, Leorio agreed, fearing that if he refused, he might never see Kurapika again. He wasn’t sure why the fear persisted, but what he did know was that he’d grown attached to the nonchalance, the intrigue, and the quiet seduction.

 

They barely made it a block when the sky opened above them, and heavy rain drenched them almost instantly. They sought shelter beneath the awning of a dark coffee shop, closed for the night. There, they rested, soaked and breathless.

 

“I didn’t check the weather,” Leorio said, unlocking his phone. “Slipped my mind.”

 

“How long will it last?”

 

Leorio accessed an app and scrolled, the blue-tinged light reflecting in his glasses. In disbelief, he said, “A few more hours.” Turning to Kurapika as he locked his phone, Leorio stood up taller and straightened his shoulders—the effect of which was diminished by his shivering. “I’ll walk the rest of the way myself. There’s no need for you to risk your health for this.”

 

“If you walk in the rain like that, you’ll get sick,” Kurapika said. “I thought I told you to take care of yourself.”

 

With a slight shrug, Leorio squinted into the darkness, assessing the distance. “I’ll be fine,” he said, facing Kurapika once more with a reassuring smile. “I don’t really have another choice.”

 

Kurapika ran his fingers through his slick hair, hands trembling. He met Leorio’s gaze; Leorio was unabashedly staring at him, that tantalizing pink hue gracing his cheeks again the longer he looked. Kurapika dropped his arm to his side and stepped closer to Leorio, lifting his chin to meet the taller man’s eyes. “Why don’t you come to my place—at least until the rain stops? I’ll make you something warm to drink. I only live a few blocks away.”

 

Leorio stilled, feeling the dryness of his throat stretching to his lips. He swallowed painfully but didn’t look away. “All right,” he said softly. “Lead the way.”

 

* * *

For the reference of those who are of legal drinking age  **only**.

 

_Roman Holiday Cocktail _

Ingredients

  * Mint leaves (as many as your dear heart desires)
  * ½ oz simple syrup (here's a  _simple[recipe](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/simple-syrup)_  if you don't want to spend cash money on it)
  * 1 oz amaro (bitter Italian liqueur)
  * 1 oz sweet vermouth (wine)
  * ¾ oz fresh lemon juice (from the citrus)
  * Lemon wedge (for a little pizzazz)



Directions

  * Shake up the mint leaves and simple syrup in a cocktail shaker (or make do with what you have without making a mess)
  * Add amaro, vermouth, and lemon juice. Fill with ice and shake for roughly 30 seconds.
  * Strain the liquid into a glass and garnish with a mint sprig & a lemon wedge



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will feature some smut. I'm determined. Be prepared.


	3. Mulled Wine

A towel wrapped around his waist, Leorio looked at his reflection in the foggy mirror. His skin had developed a red flush from the hot water, and steam rose from his wet shoulders. He hadn’t yet heard the dryer cycle end, so he lingered in the bathroom, palms pressed on the edges of the sink, trying not to think.

 

By the time they had reached Kurapika’s apartment building, the two of them were drenched and chilled. Kurapika had insisted Leorio take a shower while he dried his clothes. Leorio was so beaten by the elements that he’d agreed without contesting the idea.

 

Standing almost naked in a near stranger’s bathroom, Leorio began to feel flustered. He didn’t understand Kurapika’s intentions, and he hardly knew the man at all. But fear didn’t fester, didn’t linger. Only anxiety, anticipation.

 

Leorio splashed cool water on his face and leaned against the counter, breathing hard, listening for the dryer to stop.

 

In the kitchen, Kurapika read the writing on the small square of paper again, feverishly, before mangling it in his palm and setting it on the countertop. The bartender had slipped it under his glass, knowing Kurapika had noticed. Some part of him wished he hadn’t. But nothing would come of the message, at least not for a few days. Acquiring useful information was rare, and patience was among one of Kurapika’s finest traits.

 

The night had not progressed as he’d anticipated or wanted, but the digressions didn’t come from conflict of interest or the weather. As usual, Kurapika’s night had been disrupted by work. As usual, he felt shackled, almost inhuman. His life belonged to an external force. His time was rarely his own.

 

There was one thing of which he was certain: whatever happened, he would not drag Leorio into it.

 

He stirred the wine on the stove, allowing the sweet steam to tantalize his taste buds. A few more minutes of simmering and it would be ready. Though the cold had seeped through his clothes and into his skin, he’d managed to ignore it after changing clothes, slipping stiffly into a loose sweatshirt. In the living room, a small electric fireplace emitted a red glow, bathing the area in warmth, while outside, raindrops clung to the windows and pooled on the balcony. Only a single lamp in the corner of the room cast additional light onto the furniture, leaving the space feeling dark and somewhat soothing. Kurapika watched the rain from the kitchen, through the open space above the counter, and wondered if the night would have to end.

 

Shaking his head, he raised the ladle, blowing on its contents, and sampled the wine. It burned his tongue, but he smiled at the bitter sweetness. When he heard the bathroom door open, Kurapika poured the wine into two mugs and moved into the hallway.

 

Leorio emerged with damp hair, his jacket slung over his arm. He met Kurapika’s eyes and smiled sheepishly. “Thanks for letting me use your shower,” he said.

 

Kurapika held out one of the steaming mugs. “Feel better?”

 

Wrapping his fingers around the mug, Leorio said, “Much.” He sniffed at the steam. “What is this?”

 

“Mulled wine,” Kurapika said, nodding as he moved to the living room, motioning for Leorio to follow. “I never learned a proper recipe, but it’s always been one of my favorites this time of year.”

 

He sat down on the sofa, firm and gray, and patted the cushion beside him when Leorio hesitated. Once Leorio settled, Kurapika raised the mug to his lips and stared out the window. Leorio blew on the wine before drinking, and his cheeks turned rosy at the warmth and taste.

 

For a while, they sat in silence, not quite touching but aware of the distance between them. The false crackle of firewood emitted along with the artificial heat, and the patter of rain continued, rhythmically as the clock in the kitchen ticked patiently on.

 

Leorio sat his empty mug on the coffee table and faced Kurapika, his expression solemn.

 

Kurapika lifted his chin slightly. “What is it?” he asked.

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

“You’ve already asked a lot of things,” Kurapika said, finishing his wine. He rose, brushed against Leorio’s knee as he passed him. “As long as you know what kind of answer you’ll get, ask away.”

 

Kurapika entered the kitchen and removed the lid of the pot to pour himself more wine. He searched for the ladle. When Leorio appeared in the doorway, Kurapika paused, then rested his elbows on the counter behind him, waiting.

 

“It’s about the night we met,” Leorio said.

 

Kurapika frowned, then quickly curled the corners of his lips. Slipping past Leorio empty-handed, Kurapika spoke in a strained voice. “What of it?”

 

“Who were you waiting for?”

 

A twinge of something unwelcome stopped Kurapika, seized his muscles. He inhaled through his nose, let the breath escape. “No one important,” he said. “Just a bastard who has nothing to do with you.”

 

“Hey,” Leorio said. He reached out and grasped Kurapika’s hand. Kurapika whipped around, poised to retaliate, but upon seeing the shock in Leorio’s widened eyes, he relaxed, fingers twitching.

 

“What?”

 

Leorio’s expression softened. “I’ve never seen you react like that before,” he said. “It’s nice to see that you have different sides, too.”

 

The laugh burst from Kurapika’s chest before he realized. As much as he wanted to flee and avoid any conversation altogether, Leorio had a way of breaking down the defenses he’d carefully constructed over the years. Shielding his face, Kurapika smiled and said, “Fine, you win. But just so you know, I wasn’t actually stood up—at least, not in the way you’re probably thinking.”

 

Leorio looked at him expectantly, and Kurapika adjusted so that his hand intertwined with Leorio’s. He led him back to the couch and sat facing Leorio, one knee bent beneath him, their fingers still laced.

 

“I was waiting for someone, that’s true,” Kurapika said slowly, purposefully selecting his words. “But it wasn’t a date.”

 

“It wasn’t?” The flurry of expressions on Leorio’s face—relief, distress, intrigue—nearly elicited another laugh from Kurapika, but he cleared his throat to suppress it.

 

“No,” Kurapika confirmed. “I was waiting for a criminal.”

 

All emotions melted from Leorio’s face, and he leaned forward. “A criminal?” he asked, his skepticism evident.

 

“A murderer, to be precise.”

 

“You had a meeting with a murderer—and you got stood up?” It was clear Leorio didn’t believe him. There was really no reason he should, after all. Kurapika had learned that, sometimes, the best form of deceit came from the truth.

 

Kurapika shut his eyes, unable to stop his lips from parting and bending upward, baring his teeth. “That’s just what that man was like,” he said. “I can’t say too much about it, but he was flaky. At times, he vanished, and for months, it was like he had never existed. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. And then, all at once, he returned as though nothing had ever happened.”

 

“Why were you waiting for him?” Leorio asked deliberately. He’d gotten used to the game, knew which questions would obviously lead to disappointment. Others, in his mind, were uncertain. If Kurapika were unguarded enough, perhaps—

 

“Ah, that I can’t reveal,” he said, and Leorio was surprised to find a strange sort of sadness on Kurapika’s features, manifesting primarily in his downcast eyes. When Kurapika looked up to find Leorio watching him, he squeezed his hand. “I will not get you involved and put you in danger. You don’t deserve that.”

 

Leorio leaned closer, placing a warm hand on Kurapika’s knee. The sudden proximity, the forwardness, surprised Kurapika—though he didn’t let it show. “You don’t have to worry about me,” Leorio said. “But it is sweet of you to care so much.”

 

Kurapika studied Leorio’s features—his tender eyes; his lips, still slightly wet from the wine—and felt a sliver of control slip away. He raised his hand with a motion so slow and smooth, it was as though he were approaching a frightened animal.

 

But Leorio rested his cheek in Kurapika’s palm without hesitation, closing his eyes in response to the sensation of Kurapika’s cool fingertips stroking the sensitive flesh by his ears.

 

“Leorio,” Kurapika said, moving closer. Leorio opened his eyes, found himself within inches of Kurapika’s face. There, he marveled at the smoothness of his skin and wondered if it was as soft as it looked. “Leorio, may I kiss you?”

 

The sincerity of the question brought fire to Leorio’s cheeks, and though he resisted the urge to turn away, he wished he could convey everything he felt in words alone. Instead, he pressed his forehead to Kurapika’s, their breath mingling, and breathed a response. “Yes. _Yes_. You don’t have to ask.”

 

Kurapika let out a laugh, then lifted his chin, finding Leorio’s lips with ease. It was soft, tender. Though every muscle and nerve craved more, Kurapika kept himself in check, allowing his thumb to stroke Leorio’s jawbone, savoring the rough sensation of the stubble there against his skin. Leorio kept it sweet. He measured his breathing, parted his lips just enough, kept his eyes shut. His hand, still on Kurapika’s knee, trembled; desire, it seemed, sparked in him, too.

 

When Kurapika’s tongue slipped between Leorio’s lips, Leorio traced the underside with his own, tempted to draw it in deeper. He resisted, though his hand roamed, fingers gliding along the soft material of Kurapika’s pants, up to his waist. Leorio pulled him closer, forcing Kurapika to rise to his knees. Their lips parted for a moment, Kurapika staring down at Leorio’s flushed face, before Leorio drew him back.

 

Kurapika felt his brows furrow, felt a familiar heat rise into his body, and wove his fingers into Leorio’s hair, anchoring himself in the moment. Leorio’s gentle touch, the way he held Kurapika—tightly, as though afraid of what might happen if he let go—was unfamiliar and new but welcome. Lightheaded, Kurapika withdrew for a moment, catching his breath, and Leorio’s incessant lips only relocated, finding the tender skin of Kurapika’s neck and kissing, sucking at the softest spots.

 

With a labored breath, Kurapika tilted his head to the side, creating a larger surface for Leorio to explore. Kurapika lowered his hands to Leorio’s shoulders, resting them. As Leorio’s mouth traveled, following the curve of his neck, his tongue flicked at a particularly sensitive part, and Kurapika inhaled sharply, digging his fingers into Leorio’s shoulders. Leorio pulled away, breathing heavily, and looked up at the sheen of sweat barely perceptible on Kurapika’s temple.

 

“Leorio.” Kurapika, head throbbing, let his hands glide up Leorio’s neck, fingers brushing the skin, and cupped his cheeks. With parted lips, he leaned down until their noses were touching, and closed his eyes tightly. Leorio’s hands settled on Kurapika’s hips, and it took every ounce of control for Kurapika to remain still.

 

“What is it?” Leorio said softly. Kurapika opened his eyes and looked into Leorio’s somewhat glassy ones. Though his body insisted he resume where they left off, Kurapika forced himself from the couch and rose, facing the window and exhaling a shaky breath. He moved to the bookshelf near the balcony, placing one trembling hand on the shelf at chest level. His fingers itched to light a cigarette, but he would wait.

 

“Sorry,” Kurapika said. “If we move too fast, I’m afraid…”

 

Leorio stood, swallowing, and adjusted the collar of his shirt. “You’re afraid?”

 

Kurapika glanced at Leorio, the flush extending below his neck, and bit down on his lip. “I don’t want you to have any regrets,” Kurapika said, the words falling freely. “I’m not the kind of person you should be involved with. In any way.”

 

“Is that so?” Leorio’s tone stung Kurapika, and he couldn’t help but turn around. There was something close to anger in Leorio’s eyes, but Kurapika couldn’t place it. Instead, he looked past Leorio at the clock in the kitchen and nearly cursed.

 

“It really is late,” Kurapika said. “I’m sorry for keeping you so long. If you don’t want to walk home at this hour—if you’re weary—you are welcome to spend the night. I can sleep on the sofa.” His eyes flickered up to Leorio’s face, wary, strangely fearful.

 

“No, I’m not tired.”

 

“Ah, I see,” Kurapika said distantly, unable to mask his disappointment. “Then feel free to take your leave at any time. I won’t stop you.”

 

“And if I don’t want to leave?”

 

As the words registered, Kurapika felt some of the tension slip from his shoulders. “You don’t want to sleep, and you don’t want to go home,” he said. “If that’s the case, then what _do_ you want?”

 

Leorio frowned and stepped closer, looming over Kurapika. “You don’t get to make decisions for me,” he said, stepping toward Kurapika. “If I want to be involved with you, I will be. Understand?”

 

A delicious chill stroked Kurapika’s spine, and he forced himself to look away. “Of course,” he said. “Then by all means…” He moved past Leorio, reaching out to touch his chest before continuing past. When he realized Leorio hadn’t moved, Kurapika paused. “Leorio,” he said, drawing his eyes. What Leorio saw was something gentle yet relentless, an unquenchable desire he had never encountered. Kurapika looked at him with hooded eyes, glistening in the dim light of the apartment. “Follow me.”

 

* * *

For the reference of those who are of legal drinking age  **only**.

_Mulled Wine_

**Note** _: Mulled wine is fucking ancient. There are a lot of different ways you can make it. Personally, I’ve only done it once; I just dicked around and it worked out great . So follow your heart._

Ingredients

  * Red wine, bottled
  * One orange, peeled and sliced (keep that peel for adding _zest_ to the wine)
  * ¼ cup brandy
  * Cloves, roughly 10
  * ⅓ cup honey (or sugar if that’s more your style)
  * 1 tsp. fresh OR 2 tsp. ground ginger
    * Alternatively, you can use allspice, cinnamon sticks, or whatever the fuck you want to throw in to make it taste good



Directions

  * Throw all those ingredients in a big pot or slow cooker
  * Warm them on low to medium heat for 20-25 minutes (patience is key because burnt/boiled wine is _no one’s_ friend)
  * Stir occasionally while heating
  * This recipe involves a lot of waiting
  * Ladle the wine into a mug or drinking device of choice (leave behind the seasonings i.e. cloves/cinnamon sticks because you can’t drink those)



 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said there would be smut, but the chapter was getting too long for my liking and I split it up. So NEXT CHAPTER.


	4. Ice Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As foretold, here be the smut.

Leorio followed, as though under a spell. Kurapika disappeared around a corner, and Leorio struggled to keep up. The apartment was larger than he’d originally realized, and a fleeting inquiry about Kurapika’s occupation resurfaced. There were so many secrets and mysteries surrounding him; Leorio realized, with a start, that he really knew nothing about him. But when Leorio entered the bedroom and saw Kurapika’s burning eyes, all other thoughts fled.

 

“Come here.” Kurapika’s tone had shifted, and his eyes, in the darkness of the room, seemed to flash red for a moment. “Did you hear me? Come here. I am not patient man, Leorio. You’ll do well to remember that.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Leorio said instinctively. Kurapika smirked at the title. Leorio’s face grew hot, but he advanced anyway, standing just before Kurapika.

 

Despite their height difference, Kurapika was clearly in control. His hands rose to clutch Leorio’s collar, and he pulled him closer, just close enough that Leorio could feel Kurapika’s warm, sweet breath on his lips. Kurapika tilted his head, peering at Leorio through his lashes. “Strip for me,” he whispered. “Start with the shirt.”

 

He released Leorio and stepped back far enough to watch. The sensation of submission was new to Leorio, but he found himself obeying without question, fumbling with the buttons.

 

“Are you struggling?” Kurapika teased, his voice low and melodic.

 

“I can do it,” Leorio said defiantly, but his hands trembled. Kurapika wrapped his fingers around Leorio’s hands and pressed his fingertips into Leorio’s palm, subsiding the tremors.

 

“I’ll help,” Kurapika said. As he worked the buttons, in an even softer voice, he said, “Are you okay with this?”

 

Leorio stared down at Kurapika, the gentle movements of his fingers and the softness of his voice, and swallowed. “I am. Yes.”

 

“You can change your mind at any point,” Kurapika said, unhooking the last button and stepping back. “I promise.”

 

Allowing the sleeves to slide down his arms, Leorio felt his ears redden. “Now what?” he said, letting the shift fall to the floor. Kurapika’s eyes flickered to it for a moment before returning to Leorio’s bare chest.

 

“What would you like me to do?”

 

“What—” Leorio choked on the word, as easily flustered as ever. Of course, he knew what he wanted Kurapika to do—where and how he wanted to be touched—but he couldn’t—wouldn’t say that aloud.

 

“You’re so easy to read,” Kurapika said breathlessly, placing his cool palm against Leorio’s skin. His left hand rose to Leorio’s neck, his thumb brushing over the cartilage in his throat, fingertips caressing his ear. Leorio leaned into his touch. With Kurapika’s other hand gliding around Leorio’s stomach, his pinky grazing Leorio’s waistband, he met Leorio’s eyes. “Get on the bed.”

 

Subdued, Leorio sank onto the mattress, fingers splayed on either side, so that he was staring up at Kurapika. The only source of light came from the window, from the lights of the city, and the darkness soothed Leorio, yet enticed him all the same. As he watched, Kurapika smoothly removed his sweatshirt, the stiffness of his shoulders only hindering him for a moment.

 

Kurapika, delighted by the glint of something near animalistic in Leorio’s eyes, approached, leaning down to clutch Leorio’s left hand. He advanced, raising a knee to press against the outside of Leorio’s right thigh. In his peripheral, he could see the rapid rise and fall of Leorio’s chest.

 

“I might not be gentle enough,” Kurapika said, his lips only a hair’s breadth away from Leorio’s. “So tell me if I’m too rough.”

 

“I don’t mind,” Leorio said, unhinging, and reached with his right hand to grasp the back of Kurapika’s head, bridging the gap.

 

The arch of Kurapika’s back was unnatural, but he barely noticed the pain. Leorio stroked Kurapika’s hair, drinking in the soft texture. Kurapika focused on the kiss, sliding his tongue along the ridge of Leorio’s teeth, teasing. The urge to take things slow, to pace himself, was new; Kurapika decided to let it play out, asses Leorio’s limits, before indulging.

 

Kurapika brought his other knee onto the bed, on the other side of Leorio’s legs, and allowed his hands to roam. His cool fingers traced the defined lines of Leorio’s abdomen, then rose to graze his nipples. To Kurapika’s surprise, Leorio stiffened, leaning into the touch and breaking away from the kiss to breathe.

 

“You like that, do you?” Kurapika murmured. “Don’t get too excited just yet.”

 

“Shut up,” Leorio uttered, tilting his head back.

 

Kurapika raised an eyebrow but said nothing, just lowered his lips to Leorio’s chest. His tongue flicked against one nipple while his left hand teased the other. A low moan escaped Leorio’s lips, eliciting a sharp pang in Kurapika. Before he could stop himself, he pushed on Leorio’s shoulders, pinning him to the mattress, straddling his hips. They stared at one another for a fraction of a second before Kurapika detected the stiffness pressing up against him.

 

Kurapika smiled, practically salivating. “Hard already?” he asked. Upon seeing Leorio’s flushed cheeks, the clear indication of simultaneous desire and embarrassment, Kurapika leaned closer to whisper, “Me, too.”

 

He rocked, gently, only once, and Leorio bit his lip to keep from moaning. Noticing this, Kurapika held still, hands on Leorio’s stomach, and spread his fingers along the surface.

 

“If you want me to continue,” Kurapika said, “you have to tell me. So make some noise if you like it. Let me hear you.” He shifted his hips, pressing against Leorio’s hardness, and though the fabric of their pants still separated them, Leorio parted his lips and let out a soft groan.

 

Kurapika gritted his teeth, curling his fingers into fists against Leorio’s chest, and exhaled. It was hard to stay in control. “That’s more like it,” Kurapika breathed. He rose up, still kneeling, and said, “Lift your hips, Leorio. Yes, just like that. Lovely.” Kurapika easily undid the button of Leorio’s pants and slipped his fingers between the material and skin, shimmying them over Leorio’s hips and easing them down. He discarded them onto the floor behind him without looking back, his attention completely occupied.

 

When he touched Leorio’s expectant cock the first time, curling his fingers loosely around it, Leorio twisted his hands into the sheets, trying not to squirm. Kurapika paused, watching, relishing in Leorio’s desperation.

 

“ _Kura…pika_ ,” Leorio managed, lifting his face to glare at him, however weakly. “You _tease_. Get on with it already.”

 

“Fine,” Kurapika said, bending down. “As you wish.” He brought his lips to the head of Leorio’s twitching cock, tracing the tip with his tongue. Locking eyes with Leorio, Kurapika enveloped its entirety, pressing his tongue against the shaft as he moved his head up and down. Leorio moaned clearly, resting his head back on the mattress. As Kurapika sucked, rubbing the base with his thumb, Leorio bucked his hips, trying again to stifle the sounds from his mouth.

 

Kurapika released Leorio’s cock from his mouth and proceeded to stroke the length with his tongue, tracing thick paths along it, swirling along the tip. Leorio grasped at the sheets, open-mouthed, nearly writhing.

 

“Feel good?” Kurapika said, pulling away for a moment and replacing his tongue with his hand, pumping the shaft in time with the motion of Leorio raising his hips. “I’ll make you feel even better. Would you like that? How desperate are you?”

 

Leorio gritted his teeth, chest heaving, and panted. “Oh, _fuck_ you.”

 

Kurapika clutched at his throat with his free hand, restraining himself, feeling the heartbeat against his fingers. Shaking his head and biting down on his lip to keep from grinning, he pressed down against Leorio’s hips with both hands, holding him captive. Before Leorio could speak, Kurapika went down again, faster, fingers pressing into the firm flesh of Leorio’s upper thighs as he enveloped the complete length of Leorio’s throbbing cock. He closed his eyes, focusing on the motion, pleased to hear Leorio’s flustered moans freely escaping as Kurapika pressed his tongue flat against the shaft and bobbed his head.

 

“K-Kurapika, I—” Leorio spoke, but Kurapika sucked even faster, twisting his wrist along the length with a firm hand, and Leorio bucked in response. “ _Fuck_ , I’m gonna—!”

 

As Kurapika paused, lips tight around the head of his cock, Leorio came with a muffled grunt, filling Kurapika’s mouth, Leorio’s body trembling from the expense. Kurapika pulled away, watching Leorio whose eyes were locked, almost feverishly, on him. Sitting up, Kurapika swallowed roughly, licking the excess from his lips and wiping a few drops of sweat from his forehead. “Good work,” he said. When Leorio stared him down, still breathing heavily, Kurapika fought the chill crawling along his shoulders. “What, you want more?”

 

“Bastard,” Leorio said, but his tone reflected not anger but lust. “You haven’t let me do anything. Have you—do you feel—good?”

 

Pursing his lips, Kurapika traced the lines of Leorio’s hips, humming in contemplation. “I’m having a great time just like this,” he said, his gaze traveling along the length of Leorio’s slick body. “But we _could_ do more—if you’re interested.”

 

Leorio wanted to be angry, wanted to lash out against the humiliation and the taunting, but all he could feel was the flush of heat spreading across his body. He turned his face away, toward the window, without really looking at anything. “What did you have in mind?” he asked, attempting to mimic the taunting, overbearing tone Kurapika had mastered.

 

Kurapika hummed, barely concealing his arousal. “Let me ask you something,” Kurapika said, repositioning his legs so he could lean over the side of the bed. “Perhaps your answer will have changed.”

 

Watching the arch of Kurapika’s back as he bent over, the smoothness of his skin in the blue light of the evening, Leorio swallowed. “Anything, ask me anything.”

 

After reaching beneath the bed, Kurapika returned, kneeling and bearing a length of thin black cord folded many times over in his hands. “Remember our conversation from earlier? How do you feel about rope _now_?”

 

The mischievous gleam in Kurapika’s eyes was unmistakable. Leorio sat up, unable to deny the rush of arousal and intrigue which coursed through him. “Ah,” he said. “You’re into _that_.”

 

Shrugging, Kurapika said, “Just a hobby, more or less.”

 

“So you want to—to tie me up?”

 

“Nothing too intense,” Kurapika said, softly, to reassure him. “Like I said before, I like it for the _aesthetic_.” He caught Leorio’s strange gaze and froze. “We don’t have to,” he said slowly. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I—”

 

Moving forward, Leorio stretched to kiss Kurapika, sweetly, and withdrew. “Do it,” he said, looking down. “I want to.”

 

One finger tracing his own lips, Kurapika smiled. “If you insist.”

 

He set to work, unraveling the cord and moving closer to straddle Leorio again. This time, his attention was on the cord, letting it slide through his fingers.

 

“Lift your arms,” Kurapika said. Leorio obeyed, but he rested them on Kurapika’s shoulders, lacing them into his hair, playing with the strands, pulling on occasion. Chuckling, Kurapika said, “You really are sweet. A bit unexpected, but not a bad thing.” He paused, staring at the cord in his hand before meeting Leorio’s gaze. “But are you _sure_ this is okay?”

 

Leorio raised his eyebrows and exhaled through his nose. “My arms will cramp if you take too long, so _hurry_.” On the last word, a sliver of desire slipped through.

 

Nodding, Kurapika reached around Leorio’s torso to grab the other end of the cord and paused once more, nearly inciting an outburst from Leorio. “We should have a safe word, just in case,” Kurapika said cautiously. “Do you have a preference? It should be something easy.”

 

Leorio—overcome by the sweet scent of Kurapika, the soft sensation of his hair against his chest—racked his brain, searching. “How about… I don’t know, ‘spider’?”  


Kurapika grimaced. “Anything but that,” he said, straining. “Why would you even suggest that? Do you think spiders are sexy? Oh, I get it—you’re a _leg_ guy.”

 

Refusing to acknowledge the truth in the last statement, Leorio huffed.  “I’ve never done this before,” Leorio said, embarrassed. “You’re an expert. Show a little mercy.”

 

Biting his lip to keep from smiling, Kurapika said, “There’s a good one. ‘Mercy.’ Cry out for mercy if you want it. Does that sound good?”

 

“F-fine,” Leorio said. “Just fine.”

 

Finally, Kurapika moved, barely brushing Leorio’s skin as he loosely wove the ends together, crafting a simple yet pleasing design which criss-crossed over Leorio’s chest and abdomen. Kurapika paused, inspecting his handiwork with a slight pink tinge to his cheeks.

 

“You really know what you’re doing,” Leorio whispered, watching him.

 

“Comes with the job.”

 

“I thought you weren’t going to talk about work.”

 

Kurapika pressed a finger to Leorio’s lips, hitting his teeth. “And that’s all you get,” he said. “Sit up on your knees and spread your legs a little.”

 

“Right,” Leorio said, though he wasn’t sure why he agreed so quickly. Kurapika took the remaining length of cord and ran it along Leorio’s inner thigh, wrapping around and crossing it over his hip on both sides. By the time Kurapika had finished, his face was flushed, and Leorio’s erection had very clearly returned, aching for attention again.

 

“How’s that feel?” Kurapika asked, inching closer, stroking the skin of Leorio’s chest adjacent to the cord. “Too tight? Not tight enough?”

 

“Just fine,” Leorio managed. “I kind of like it.”

 

“Good.” Kurapika motioned for Leorio to move back, closer to the headboard. “Now, let’s have some real fun.” Kurapika pressed against Leorio’s chest, on the skin between the cord, until Leorio had reclined against the pillows. “Comfortable?”

 

“Yeah, actually—”

 

Then, Kurapika was on top of him, gripping the knot closest to his throat and pulling upward, knees pressed against Leorio’s hips. He paused, holding Leorio a few inches off the mattress, savoring the look of shock as it transformed into lust. Kurapika brought their lips together, harshly, for a brief moment before releasing him. Sitting up straight, he hooked his fingers in his waistband and removed his pants, struggling for a second when a dull, ancient ache arose. But he recovered easily, tossing them over the side of the bed.

 

Leorio, lying defenseless, looked at Kurapika with a strange sense of wonder and expectation. The whole experience was new, delightfully so, and Leorio was filled with the desire to please.

 

He swallowed and arched his back, extending one hand toward Kurapika, as if to draw him in. “Don’t tease me any more,” he said.

 

Kurapika responded by pinning Leorio down with one hand and reaching back to grab his cock with the other, letting his fingers trail up and down the shaft, teasing the slit. “I won’t,” he purred. “So do as I say.”

 

Leorio couldn’t speak, just reached for Kurapika’s chest, tracing the firm muscles, brushing against scars. He lingered on the deepest wounds, noticed bruises in the dark. He wanted to ask, but Kurapika’s eyes, driven and full of warning, stopped him. It wasn’t his business. He touched them tenderly anyway, avoiding the worst.

 

Kurapika smoothed his palm down Leorio’s chest, over the ridges of rope, and bit his tongue.

 

Releasing his grip on Leorio’s cock, Kurapika cupped Leorio’s face with his right hand, tracing his cheekbone with his thumb. He pressed his index finger into Leorio’s lips and smirked. “Suck.”

 

Dutifully, without any objection, Leorio parted his lips, and Kurapika slipped three fingers inside. As Leorio closed his mouth around them and ran his tongue along the bottoms, pressing into the spaces between them, Kurapika rocked back against Leorio’s hips, head slightly inclined, and gripped the cord knotted at Leorio’s chest, grounding himself.

 

Leorio swallowed and sucked, teeth scraping against his knuckles, and Kurapika let out a sharp, “ _Fuck_.” He rubbed Leorio’s chest once more, toying with the hardening nipple, and clenched his teeth to keep himself under control. He pinched the tender pink skin for a reaction.

 

When Leorio gasped, Kurapika withdrew his fingers, now slick with warm saliva. Leorio forced his eyes to focus on Kurapika, the sheen of sweat on his chest and the devious smile curling his lips. Kurapika shifted backward, prying Leorio’s legs farther apart, kneeling between them.

 

He spared a moment to seek approval, and Leorio nodded, brows furrowed and skin flushed. He gritted his teeth in preparation.

 

He pressed one finger against the rim of Leorio’s ass, easing inside, pressing into the tight cavity as gently as he could. Leorio hadn’t moved, except to reach up to grip the bars of the headboard.

 

Kurapika wanted to hurry, to fit himself inside, but he slowed his movements, making Leorio more receptive. “Leorio,” he whispered, earning a shy glance. “You’re very calm. You’re so tight but so good. You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

 

“Of course I have,” Leorio snapped, just as Kurapika slipped another finger instead. Leorio arched his back just a few inches above the bed, the cord tightening against his skin, and when he settled, he said, “Did you—did you think I was a _virgin_?”

 

“No, not a virgin,” Kurapika said, stroking the soft interior of Leorio’s thigh with his free hand, tracing along the cord and probing the base of his cock. “Just an amateur.”

 

“ _Kurapika, you_ —”

 

The third finger entered, and Leorio shut his mouth and clenched his fists tighter as Kurapika curled his fingers upward, one at a time, stretching. “Does that feel good?” With his thumb, he pressed against the sensitive skin above the hole, and Leorio tightened his stomach, resisting. “I can’t hear you, Leorio.”

 

When Kurapika burrowed his fingers ever deeper inside and moved close enough to press his tongue against the rim, Leorio couldn’t contain the moan any longer. He rolled his hips, now clawing at the sheets beneath him, gasping.

 

“That’s better,” Kurapika said, sliding his fingers out and shifting back onto his knees, reaching behind him. “Now just wait for a moment, sweetheart.”

 

“ _Fuck_ , Kurapika,” Leorio said, bending his knees around him. “Bastard, tease—”

 

Kurapika slipped on the condom with ease, flinching with muted pleasure at the snap of the latex, and knowing that Leorio was watching, carefully and deliberately applied the lube. When he had finished, Leorio looked at him with needy eyes, a look Kurapika had nurtured throughout the night.

 

For a moment, Kurapika felt fear and hesitated. He had _sworn_ he wouldn’t get too close. It was dangerous. This was about as close as he could get.

 

But he looked at Leorio, open and waiting, and resolved himself to face the consequences. Some risks were worth taking. If Leorio were in danger because of him, he would take completely responsibility, and that was that.

 

Trailing a hand along Leorio’s thigh, Kurapika said, “Are you ready?”

 

“I’ve _been_ ready, you ass.”

 

Smirking, Kurapika guided his cock, aligned it, before entering Leorio slowly, lifting his hips, pressing in until he had been engulfed. Leorio’s chest heaved, knees bowing inward, and his vision blurred. It hadn’t been the force that had caught him but the deliberation, the angle. He twisted his hips against Kurapika’s, short of breath, begging.

 

Kurapika crawled forward, hovering over Leorio, and thrust his hips against Leorio’s, rocking rhythmically, a blush coloring his cheeks. Leorio reached up, found Kurapika’s back, and curled his fingers there, seeking anchorage.

 

Kurapika bent down, squeezing his eyes shut at the sensation of fingernails clawing. “ _Leorio_ ,” he uttered, looping his fingers through the cord snug around Leorio’s chest, tugging, rubbing it across indented skin.

 

Kurapika moved his hips faster, the movement becoming easier with time, and Leorio’s breath hitched, the slight expulsion hot at Kurapika’s throat. “Harder,” Leorio pleaded. “ _Fuck_ , _Kurapika, please_ —”

 

Who was Kurapika to deny such an earnest request?

 

Bending further, resting his elbow on either side of Leorio’s chest, Kurapika clung to the cord at Leorio’s shoulders, his face nearly in the pillows as he thrust harder against Leorio, working the tightness as it tensed around his cock. Leorio, clutching at Kurapika’s body, pressed his face to the curve between Kurapika’s neck and shoulder, nipping at the skin, biting down to prevent himself from crying out.

 

“ _Hah_ ~” Kurapika couldn’t help himself. He pulled harder against the cord, fearing only for a moment that it might snap from the force. As Leorio pressed his thighs tighter against Kurapika’s hips, Kurapika moaned, shameless and overwrought. “Leorio,” he managed, “ _bite me harder_.”

 

When Leorio obliged, scratching Kurapika’s back for good measure, Kurapika gasped and rocked his hips harder, jarringly, reaching deeper than before.

 

Leorio clung to Kurapika, pulling him down, one hand moving to weave into and tug Kurapika’s hair. The other hand drifted, settling against Kurapika’s tender waist, while Kurapika thrust, stealing Leorio’s breath and nearly sending him over the edge.

 

“Leorio,” Kurapika murmured between pants. “Turn over.”

 

Unable to speak, Leorio struggled to obey. Kurapika pulled out only for a moment, allowing Leorio to steady himself, before aligning his wet, aching cock and sliding it in again. Leorio lifted his chin, rocking back into Kurapika’s hips, grasping the pillows, the sheets—whatever he could reach.

 

As Kurapika thrusted, harder, he grabbed the cord knotted at the center of Leorio’s back and pulled, arching his spine and eliciting a sharp gasp. With his other hand, he reached around and slipped his fingers around Leorio’s erect cock, wrapping and pumping firmly. He could feel Leorio tensing, his body quivering, and Kurapika pressed his chest to Leorio’s back, moving his hips even faster, and aligned his mouth with Leorio’s ear.

 

“Go on,” his whispered, flicking the lobe with his tongue and shutting his eyes. “Cum with me— _Ah_ — _Leorio_ —”

 

Leorio didn’t need the instruction. As Kurapika thrust, he came inside, his hips trembling, still rocking, against Leorio’s ass. Leorio, at the same time, arched his back against Kurapika’s, crying out, drained, his head filled with fog and pleasure.

 

When his arms gave out, Leorio slumped forward onto the bed, eyes closed, panting. Kurapika eased out of Leorio, tied off the condom, and placed it in a nearby trash can. He stood on uneasy legs and moved to the mini fridge by the dresser, dropping ice cubes into glasses and pouring in water from a cool pint. Looking back at Leorio’s exhausting, glistening form, Kurapika couldn’t help but smile fondly. He sat the glasses on the nightstand and crawled onto the mattress, resting beside Leorio and stroking his hair. “You’ve got to sit up,” he said soothingly. “I have to untie you, or you’ll be very uncomfortable in the morning.”

 

Leorio groaned into the pillow. With shaking arms, he pushed himself up, facing Kurapika. For a moment, they looked at each other. Kurapika searched for anger, regret, but found none. Sweetly, Leorio reached for Kurapika’s face, stroked his cheeks and traced his lips with his thumb. He moved slowly, pressed his soft lips to Kurapika’s, and withdrew without taking a breath. After inhaling deeply, he nodded, a small, weary smile gracing his lips. “Alright, _Expert_ ,” he said, weakly holding out his arms. “Untie me already so we can go to sleep.”

 

“Patience, Leorio,” Kurapika said, reaching for the last knot he had tied. “I’m tired, too.”

 

“I’m a cuddler,” Leorio said drowsily. “Hope you don’t mind.”

 

A tightness formed in Kurapika’s chest, but he ignored it, focusing on the movement of his fingers. “I don’t mind at all,” he said pleasantly. “I’m glad you decided to spend the night after all.”

 

“Of course,” Leorio said, averting his eyes. “I—had a good time.”

 

Kurapika laughed, leaning forward to rest his forehead on Leorio’s chest. Leorio wrapped his arms around him, his touch soft and comforting, as though he were trying to calm a frightened animal. At that moment, Kurapika realized he was still trembling, and he pressed his hands against Leorio’s stomach, inhaling a shaky breath before he pulled away.

 

The smile he bore was genuine. “You know, I had a good time, too.”

 

* * *

 

For the reference of literally every living creature.

 

_Ice Water_

Ingredients

  * Water, filtered or purified
  * Ice, cubed or crushed
  * Lemon, sliced (optional)



Directions

  * Fill glass with ice to desired level
  * Pour water into glass
  * Garnish with lemon
  * Drink multiple times a day because _hydration is important and alcohol/physical activity dehydrates you_



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not written smut in five years, have Mercy.


	5. Blue on Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 was smut; Chapter 5 is suffering.
> 
> There is a decent amount of violence in this chapter, so please check the tags before reading!

When Leorio awoke, the space beside him was empty and the apartment seemed hollow with silence. He dredged himself from slumber, stretched his arms and aching shoulders, and sat up, yawning. He spread his fingers over the sheets and encountered a note, folded with crisp edges and his name in elegant script on the top.

 

_I’m sorry to leave before you woke up, but work called about an emergency and demanded I come in at once. I likely won’t be able to return until late in the evening at the earliest. Feel free to use the facilities as necessary. I’ve left some food in the kitchen for you. Again, you have my sincerest apologies._

_-Kurapika_

 

Below this, another message was scrawled, more hastily.

 

_And here’s my number, in case you need anything—or if you have another night off in the future. I hope you call soon. xxx-xxx-xxxx_

 

Leorio bit his lip to keep from smiling and slid, somewhat stiffly, off the bed. He found his clothes from the day before folded and fresh, a soft towel beside them on the dresser. The door to the attached bathroom was open, and Leorio decided to take advantage of the shower before doing anything else.

 

With wet hair and flushed skin, Leorio dressed quickly, then moved to the kitchen. On the counter was a plate wrapped in plastic, bearing a generous helping of scrambled eggs, a few strips of bacon, and slices of toast. A folded note with heating instructions sat beside the plate, and though Leorio muttered something about knowing how to reheat food, he followed the directions anyway.

 

While he waited for the food to heat, Leorio felt at liberty to take inventory of Kurapika’s kitchen. Since he was out and Leorio was confident in his ability to clean up his messes, he had no fear. He smirked at the collection of mugs, each unique and strangely whimsical, and the uniform set of wine glasses aligned neatly near the front of the cabinet. Leorio couldn’t even begin to draw conclusions about Kurapika. The more he observed, the less he seemed to know. Everything about him was a mystery. But, he considered, the invitation to his apartment and the gift of a phone number were generous beginnings.

 

He was not yet finished with Kurapika, he decided. No matter what happened, he would pursue him—not out of lust or desperation, but not merely out of curiosity either. Something deeper compelled him, dull like raw ore but waiting to be polished.

 

When the microwave startled him from his reverie, Leorio shut the cabinets and vowed to respect Kurapika’s privacy. Everyone had secrets, and they usually had reasons for keeping them. Whatever Kurapika was hiding, Leorio convinced himself he’d find out eventually, at Kurapika’s pace.

 

As he stood eating at the counter, Leorio stared out the window in the living room—at the buildings haloed with sunlight—and couldn’t help but smile. All he could think was how much he wanted to return, to spend time with Kurapika, to share mornings and evenings and all the time they could find together. Leorio had never thought of himself as a romantic, not really. He got embarrassed easily, knew the feeling of heat rising to his cheeks all too well.

 

Even so, as he finished the simple breakfast and set the dishes in the sink, Leorio wanted nothing more than to see Kurapika again. The desire was simple, and yet it threatened to consume him. He debated whether he should call Kurapika or just wait in the apartment until he returned home. Before making his decision, he scrawled his own number on a scrap of paper and left it on the counter. Even if he didn’t make such a bold move and contact Kurapika directly, at least Leorio would know that they both had the means of reaching one another.

 

A sudden rhythmic knocking sounded from the front of the apartment. Leorio returned to the present, moving into the hallway. He wasn’t sure where his wariness came from, only that it slowed his movement, forced him into hesitation. The knock came again, persistent now, and when Leorio rested his hand against the door and moved to peer through the peephole, he saw only darkness.

 

“Now that I know you’re in there,” a smooth voice said from the other side, “why don’t you open the door?”

 

Leorio recoiled, one hand pressed to his chest. The air he breathed felt tinged with danger, and he swallowed, uncertain. Without thinking, he unlatched the deadlock and cracked the door. From the other side, pressure forced the door completely open.

 

“Oh? This is a surprise.” In the doorway stood a man with a crooked smile, white teeth flashing behind painted lips. His narrow eyes were framed with thick strokes of eyeliner, and his fingernails were manicured to points. “I wasn’t expecting him to have a guest.” He leaned into the apartment, one hand gripping the doorframe, a single finger of his free hand trailing the length of his lips. “What exactly is your relationship with our dear Kurapika?”

 

Though he wasn’t sure where he found the courage, Leorio stood his ground. “Who are you?”

 

“Hisoka,” he said with a slow grin. “The name doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?”

 

Leorio gritted his teeth and tried to slow the racing of his heart. “What do you want? Kurapika isn’t here right now.”

 

“Yes, I realized that when he didn’t burst through the door and hold a gun to my head,” Hisoka said absently. Leorio swallowed, and Hisoka’s eyes followed the movement in his throat. “I wasn’t expecting anyone, if I’m honest, least of all someone like you. Tell me, what do you know about him?”

 

“I know enough.” The sentiment seemed fragile, and Leorio caught the slight upward movement of Hisoka’s eyebrows. Growing furious and fearful, Leorio said, “I think you should leave.”

 

Hisoka smiled. “You know enough. So that’s how it is,” he said, flicking his tongue out to wet his lips. “If I’m correct, you know nothing about his work, his history, or his relations. Is that right?” Leorio didn’t answer, just moved to close the door. Hisoka pushed his way inside, displaying more strength than what Leorio had accounted for. “Dear me, that was very rude. I’m only asking a few questions.”

 

“Leave,” Leorio said. His back felt cold with sweat and fear, and he searched in his peripheral for something to use as a weapon. “I don’t know what you want with Kurapika, but you need to leave now. And don’t come back. Don’t come near him.”

 

“How sweet,” the man said. “Kurapika’s got himself a guard dog. It’s a shame the pup’s so utterly useless.” With a motion too quick for Leorio to follow, the man trapped him against the wall, an elbow against Leorio’s throat. “Now it’d be best if you behaved.”

 

“Go to hell,” Leorio spat, clawing at the man’s arm. His vision grayed at the edges as he struggled to breathe.

 

Shaking his head, the man raised his other hand, curled into a fist, and laughed. “Do me a favor and be quiet,” he said, driving his fist into Leorio’s temple. He released Leorio, who slumped to the floor, dazed and fighting unconsciousness. As he tried to steady himself, Leorio felt Hisoka’s fingers in his pocket, searching. He found Leorio’s phone, slid his index finger along the touch screen, and smiled.

 

On his own phone, Hisoka dialed a quick number and held it to his ear, pressing Leorio’s device to his lips. The recipient answered on the first ring. “I’ve got a little present for you,” Hisoka said, his eyes darting to Leorio’s form. “No, not him. Someone different. I think he’ll be useful. You can be the judge of that.”

 

Unable to fight it any longer, Leorio let his head drop, and he barely registered that Hisoka hoisted him over his shoulders before his vision whirled to the point of oblivion and he shut his eyes, immersing himself in darkness.

 

* * *

 

“What is this?”

 

“The present I promised you. What, not your type?”

 

“Where is Kurapika? I told you to bring _Kurapika_ to me, not to abduct a stranger.”

 

“Kurapika wasn’t home.” Hisoka’s tone was level, and his smile showed in his voice. “But this fine gentleman was.”

 

There was a pause. “In Kurapika’s apartment? This man was?” A sudden spike of intrigue raised the other man’s voice. “You didn’t tell me that.”

 

“I thought you would have guessed, Chrollo.”

 

As Leorio regained consciousness, he processed the words as they were spoken, recited them inside his head to ascertain he could understand. He kept his eyes closed, resisted the urge to struggle against the rope which bound his wrists behind his back and his ankles to the chair upon which he sat. Against his teeth, a tight band of cloth rubbed, wrapping around his head to a knot at the back.

 

“Even if he has some connection to Kurapika,” the other man said, “that doesn’t mean he’ll be useful. Kurapika has some… promiscuous habits. You know that well, don’t you?”

 

When Hisoka laughed, Leorio felt panic swelling against his ribs, but he forced himself to stay calm, to assess the situation and go from there. The illusion of order kept him sane.

 

“Well,” Hisoka said, as though discussing the weather, “we could just kill him now.”

 

Leorio opened his eyes.

 

Before him stood Hisoka with a smug smile, his hands on his hips. “I thought that might work. Good morning, _Leorio_ ,” he said. At Leorio’s widened eyes, Hisoka flashed his wallet, withdrawing it from the air, and tossed it onto Leorio’s lap.

 

As Hisoka sauntered out of Leorio’s line of sight, the other person in the room became visible. A man with a cross branded on his head—Chrollo, Leorio presumed—sat on a wooden chair opposite Leorio, watching him with earnest eyes and hands folded before his mouth. The room, Leorio quickly noticed, was enormous and mostly barren, save for a small table off to Leorio’s left, a cabinet, and a mini-fridge. There were only a few small windows near the ceiling; Leorio surmised he was in a warehouse of sorts, and judging by the distant wail of sirens, it was beyond the city limits.

 

Upon seeing Leorio making note of his surroundings, the man rose and approached him, as a predator would draw close to its prey, lifting Leorio’s chin with a single stern finger.

 

“You certainly don’t look like a bounty hunter,” Chrollo said, tilting Leorio’s chin to get a better look. “So what was it? A one night stand?” Leorio’s eyes burned. “Oh? Was it serious then? That’s shocking. I thought Kurapika would have learned not to get others involved. He should know that never works in his favor. What a pity. It seems I overestimated him.”

 

He released Leorio’s chin only to plant his heel on the edge of the seat, in the space between Leorio’s thighs. Leorio swallowed, meeting the man’s eyes by sheer willpower alone. Chrollo gripped Leorio’s shoulder hard enough to bruise—then applied pressure against the bones and muscles in such a way that his fingers easily dislocated the joint. The gag muffled Leorio’s cry, and Chrollo smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

 

Leaning closer, Chrollo seized Leorio’s jaw and held him in place. “You’ll cooperate,” he said. “You’ll tell us what you know, and you’ll do as we say. Is that clear?”

 

Leorio panted, his chest tight, and stared into Chrollo’s eyes, found them dull like those of a doll. Summoning some new brand of courage, Leorio resisted Chrollo’s hold, jerking his head to the side.

 

Chrollo responded by flipping the chair so that the ground met its back hard enough to crack the wood, the thin rods shifting into the gaps between Leorio’s ribs, his wrists bent painfully at the base of his spine. With a foot pressed to Leorio’s chest, Chrollo shook his head in disappointment. “There’s really no point in struggling,” he said, ripping the saliva-dampened gag from Leorio’s lips. Leorio coughed as the stale air filled his mouth. “You have no idea where you are, and you have no way to escape. I have no intention of killing you, but I am not opposed to the possibility. Do you understand?”

 

Leorio strained against the pain, forcing his face away. “I don’t know anything,” he said, clipping his words. “And keeping me here won’t benefit you.”

 

“Oh? And why is that?”

 

Leorio’s plan was simple. Convince them that he and Kurapika were mere strangers. He didn’t believe that, he didn’t want to, but if he wanted to escape in time to warn Kurapika, he needed to take some risks. He swallowed. “There’s nothing between us. I don’t even know his last name, or if he has one. We spent one night together, that’s all. You’re wasting your time.”

 

“One night?” Hisoka reappeared in Leorio’s vision. “You’ve met once before, haven’t you? Isn’t that how this started?”

 

Leorio stared at him dumbly, could feel his heartbeat in his temples, pounding in his ears.

 

“In the bar, where you work,” Hisoka probed. “Surely you remember. I was to meet him there.”

 

“ _You_.” Leorio wasn’t sure where the intensity came from, but Chrollo wrapped his fingers around his throat, his palm against Leorio’s windpipe, silencing him.

 

“Yes,” Hisoka said. “It was risky business, dealing with him, but an informant makes a good deal of money in no time. In the end, of course, my services go to the highest bidder, and Chrollo paid me double what Kurapika could afford. How could I refuse?”

 

Chrollo searched Leorio’s face and released him when he was certain he would be quiet. “Did you really think you could lie to me?” he whispered. “I applaud your ambition, but it will not serve you well.”

 

As he rose, he righted the chair, yanking upward on Leorio’s shirt to hoist him. The buttons tore off, baring his skin, and Hisoka looked at him as if appraising his value. He grinned. “I suppose this isn’t your first time being tied up, Leorio? Rather like it?”

 

“Go to hell,” Leorio spat.

 

“You aren’t very original. I’m bored of you already.” Frowning, Hisoka turned his back on Leorio—but not before delivering a blunt-knuckled blow to Leorio’s chest, driving into his lower ribs, until the air fled from Leorio’s lungs and a single crack sounded. Leorio felt a sharp, persistent pain in his abdomen and held his breath, suppressing a shiver. Hisoka clicked his tongue, facing away from him. “Only one,” he muttered, clearly disappointed.

 

As he moved away, a square of light shone from his pocket, and he paused as a shrill ringing echoed off the high ceilings. Leorio grew cold.

 

“Who is it?” Chrollo asked, crossing to Hisoka who flashed the phone in his direction, his lips upturned. “Answer it. Speakerphone.”

 

“Certainly,” Hisoka said, tapping the green circle and adjusting the volume appropriately. He did not speak, let the silence fill the emptiness. Leorio’s heart threatened to burst and flood his mouth with blood.

 

A few moments of static persisted until a familiar voice came through, the tone painfully tender. “Leorio? Where are you?”

 

Leorio shut his eyes, fought the nausea which dried his lips and made him dizzy. He opened his mouth—not to speak, just to breathe—but Chrollo covered it, appearing as though from the shadows to keep him silent.

 

Hisoka raised the phone to his lips. “He can’t come to the phone right now,” he said, and Kurapika’s sharp intake of breath could be heard clearly. “Can I take a message?”

 

“Hisoka.” The sudden venom dripping from Kurapika’s words forced Leorio’s eyes open. They hadn’t known each other for very long, true, but Leorio hadn’t thought him capable of sounding so dark and violent. “What have you done?”

 

Meandering around in small circles, pivoting on his heels, Hisoka carried on as though having a normal conversation. “I stopped by your apartment earlier and thought I might ask you out to lunch,” he said. “For old time’s sake.”

 

“Where is Leorio?”

 

“He’s a bit tied up at the moment,” Hisoka said, chuckling. “But that doesn’t seem to be anything new for him. Guess you already had your fun. I’m sure you don’t mind sharing your toy. You never do.”

 

Something like a low snarl, came through the phone, and Hisoka squinted, holding the device away from his ear. When Kurapika spoke again, it sounded as though he were shaking. “Tell me where you are right now,” he said.

 

“Oh, what’s got you so fired up? Don’t tell me he’s _important_ to you?”

 

“ _Hisoka_ —”

 

“The usual place,” Hisoka said, suddenly bored. “Where we’ve met before. You remember those nights, don’t you?”

 

“Of course,” Kurapika spat.

 

“Come alone,” Hisoka said, lifting his chin in Chrollo’s direction and indicating Leorio with his eyes. Still using one hand to silence him, Chrollo bent Leorio forward until his chin nearly brushed his thighs, the sudden movement sharp and unnatural enough to bring tears to his eyes. Chrollo found Leorio’s hands, aligned his thumbs with the bones, and pressed down on his spine with his elbow, holding him in place. Leorio found himself immobile and mute—and suddenly very afraid. Hisoka nodded. “You know the protocol.”

 

Kurapika sucked in a deep breath before speaking. “Is there anything else you want?”

 

“There are many things I want, Kurapika,” Hisoka said. “Though I doubt you could provide them.”

 

“Don’t play games, Hisoka.”

 

Hisoka’s expression hardened. “I’m not.” His eyes flashed to Chrollo. A signal, subtle and simple.

 

At that moment, Chrollo forced both of Leorio’s wrists downward, past their limit, until the bones cracked and split, the flesh bruising around the joints immediately as blood from burst veins pooled near the surface. Chrollo released him, and Leorio stayed hunched over, choking, desperate to contain his agony. Though he sickened himself trying to hold it in, a miserable low groan escaped his lips as he shut his eyes and fought to suppress the sob which threatened to seize his chest. Leorio prided himself on his tolerance for pain, but _this_ —

 

On the other end of the phone, Kurapika was silent. His shallow breaths were barely audible, but the sound of grinding teeth came through.

 

Hisoka smiled. “Be here in an hour. And don’t be late.” He delicately touched the screen to end the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. After eying Leorio’s shuddering form, he licked his lips. “Aren’t you pleased you’ll see him again so soon?”

 

Leorio couldn’t speak, held himself as still as possible to avoid aggravating his injuries. Chrollo stroked Leorio’s hair, smoothed it back from his forehead, his skin cool yet soft. Nodding in approval, Chrollo returned to his chair, tilting his head back and sighing. “Hisoka, get me a drink.”

 

“Do you have a preference?” Hisoka said, moving toward the cabinet and withdrawing two glasses. He set them on the table.

 

“Anything to pass the time,” Chrollo said, draping a hand over his eyes. “Make me something sweet.” As Hisoka nodded and assessed their stock, Chrollo peered through his fingers at Leorio. He was still hunched over, blood-tinged saliva clinging to the corners of his lips, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead. Chrollo exhaled through his nose and said, “Make one for him, too.”

 

“Are you sure? It’ll only go to waste.”

 

“I want him conscious,” Chrollo said. “Give him enough to make him numb.”

 

Hisoka smirked and retrieved a third glass and a tumbler, filling it with ice. “As you wish,” he said, pouring in a variety of juices and liquors before shaking it up with flourish.

 

Leorio closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, willed his heart to steady its beating. As Hisoka guided his head back and held a glass to his lips, Leorio barely tasted the blue drink, let it dribble from his mouth. Hisoka chided him, but Leorio ignored the words, even when Hisoka jerked his chin upward and poured the remnants down his throat.

 

“Good boy,” Hisoka said when Leorio swallowed. His fingers trailed along the edge of Leorio’s lower lip to gather most of the spilled liquid. When Hisoka licked it off, he seemed to laugh. “Be patient, now. He’ll be here soon enough.”

 

As much as Leorio wanted to escape—wanted to see Kurapika again and forget this terrible day—a deep dread made him tremble. This was a trap, of course; there were bound to be other criminals lying in wait. If Kurapika came, he’d be ambushed, and he could wind up dead.

 

The thought chilled Leorio, sobered him and numbed him, temporarily, to the pain. A darker sense of foreboding arose, constricted his throat and made his heart palpitate. The more he considered the possibility, the more he rationalized his fears. They barely knew each other, had only spent a few hours together, and their relationship seemed, in retrospect, to possess the characteristics of a fling. Leorio opened his eyes but stared only at the cement by his feet.

 

What if Kurapika didn’t come at all?

 

* * *

 

For the reference of those who are of legal drinking age  **only**.

 

_Blue on Blue_

_Note: The measurements for this drink are not exact. Use the provided ratios and don’t make too much. Don’t be wasteful. Drink responsibly._

Ingredients

  * Ice, cubed
  * 1 part vodka
  * ⅔ part coconut water
  * ⅔ part cranberry juice
  * ⅓ part blue curacao
  * ¼ part simple syrup
  * Blueberries, for garnish



Directions

  * Fill a shaker with ice and add all the ingredients except blueberries because they’ll get crushed.
  * Shake and strain into a glass over ice.
  * Garnish with blueberries and enjoy.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have learned that I am more programmed for plot than porn lmfao.


	6. Vodka - Not Recommended

Kurapika stared at the phone in on the counter for a few minutes after the call had ended. The screen was cracked from how much force he’d exerted when placing it there, but he could tell by the light and notifications that it still, thankfully, functioned. The sun had begun to set, and Kurapika felt the fading heat linger on his face until shadows replaced it. Time was fleeting, but he felt no real urgency, only rage.

 

He had been a fool.

 

Forcing from his mind the sickening sounds of breaking bones and cries of pain, Kurapika swallowed and dialed, with trembling fingers, a familiar number, waiting for the recipient to answer.

 

The warehouse Hisoka nested in wasn’t far from Kurapika’s apartment. The trek would take minutes. Making other preparations wouldn’t take long, if he played his cards right.

 

“Kurapika?” A gentle voice answered, breath whistling through teeth. “Did you leave something at the office?”

 

Kurapika licked his lips and focused on levelling his voice. “I need your help, Melody,” he said. “I’ve got a problem.”

 

“It’s rare for you to be so forward,” she mused. “As dire as your situation seems to be, you know very well that I cannot grant you my aid without a formal request.”

 

“I know.”

 

“We operate under different motivations,” she continued. “I work for the law. You work for justice. There is overlap, of course, but we have our differences.”

 

“Yes, Melody, I am aware.”

 

“Then you must understand—”

 

A shred of panic slipped through Kurapika’s composure. “I don’t have time,” he said. “I’ve only got an hour to rescue him.”

 

She paused. “Someone is in danger?”

 

“Yes,” Kurapika breathed. “Yes, and I have to do something. I wanted to keep him out of this, but I got—wrapped up in everything, and—”

 

“I understand,” Melody said, her voice accompanied by the clack of a keyboard. “Breathe, Kurapika. Steady your heart. All will be well. Now, what do you need?”

 

“They told me to go alone,” Kurapika said, moving about the kitchen. He opened a locked drawer and withdrew a pistol, holstering it at his hip. His hands lingered in the drawer, following a length of rough coiled rope, before he retrieved that, too, and fastened it to his belt. “I’m not as foolish as I once was,” he said, “so naturally, I’ll need backup—to surround the area while I take care of my business.”

 

“Any specific requests?”

 

“Send whoever you’ve got. I don’t have the luxury of being picky,” Kurapika said, glancing at the wall clock. Fifteen minutes had already passed. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and watched the sun dip below the horizon, distant stars like pinpricks of light. “I’ll text you the address shortly.”

 

Melody finished typing and exhaled. Kurapika heard her push away from her desk, the wheels of her chair bumping along the uneven terrain of the floor mat. She paused before hanging up. “Will you be all right, going in alone?”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Kurapika said, a faint echo of Leorio’s cries ringing in his ears. “I have to do this. I have to make things right.” He grabbed his keys and scanned his apartment. When he located the note from the previous day, crumpled by the sink, he snatched that too in anger and pocketed it. “Thank you for this, Melody. I know it isn’t proper protocol, but—”

 

“Go,” she whispered. “Take care of things. I’ll send in support. We’ll deal with the consequences later—and then we’ll go for drinks, like we used to.” He could hear the sweet smile in her voice. “Kurapika, don’t get yourself killed.”

 

Kurapika dared to laugh as he moved through the entrance to his apartment, his heart racing with adrenaline and the acute awareness of time passing. “I don’t plan on dying today,” he said, barely remembering to lock the door. He paused in the hallway, gathering his resolve. “I’m counting on you, Melody.”

 

* * *

 

Hisoka arranged his playing cards with meticulous precision, aligning the edges so that they would remain upright as though held by strings. He hummed absently, glancing at the cracked watch facing him. He’d slipped it from Leorio’s wrist after the alcohol had numbed his nerves, after Chrollo had left the two alone to make a phone call of his own. Hisoka clicked his tongue at the broken glass. Its hands ticked laboriously by.

 

With his eyes trained on the ground, Leorio listened to his watch, felt his heartbeat fall in time with the sound of seconds. He had tried to count them, to keep track, but numbers failed to function, lost their places and collapsed in on themselves. Instead, he focused on the noise piercing the silence; it was better to suffer while awake than to lose consciousness. He wasn’t sure why he believed this, but the fear of what might happen—what _they_ might do to him—if he passed out was enough to convince him.

 

Rather than try to calculate the remaining time, Leorio noted the fading light from the small window, the arching shadows from the sills stretching into the darkness of the room. How far would the light stretch until an hour had passed? He swallowed and became too aware of the heaviness of his tongue in his mouth, dry and grazing the backs of his teeth.

 

At the table, Hisoka slipped a card at the bottom from its place, sliding a fingernail along its lower edge until it moved, and effectively destroyed the construction. The cards lay before him in an unorganized pile, and he pursed his lips, tapping a finger against the tabletop.

 

Leorio managed to lift his head at the fluttering sound, catching Hisoka’s eye. Turning his attention to Leorio, Hisoka smiled. “Still awake?” he said. “You’ve got impressive willpower, I’ll give you that.”

 

Though Leorio wanted to spit something back, fill the space between them with stinging retorts, he just glared through his lashes, gritting his teeth.

 

With a disappointed shake of his head, Hisoka rose, stretching his arms until the joints popped. “Is it wearing off already?” he asked, grazing his lower lip with his teeth. “You _are_ a bartender; I suppose you know your way around alcohol after all. I’ll make you something stronger.”

 

As he set to work, bending to peer into the cabinet, Leorio gingerly assessed the condition of his wrists, raising his shoulders so that the rope shifted against the swollen joint. The wave of nauseating pain which swept over him nearly made him bite through his tongue. No, he determined with a bitter and sinking sense of despair, there was no chance of escaping, not like this.

 

Hisoka approached, bearing a glass filled with a clear liquid. “Didn’t feel like mixing a drink,” he said, “so maybe this will do the trick. Let’s get you sitting up first.” He set the glass down on the floor beside the chair and placed a hand on Leorio’s dislocated shoulder, fingers digging into the divots.

 

Leorio deliberately closed his throat, held back any sounds he might release, as Hisoka watched him keenly. Without resistant, Hisoka forced Leorio upright until his spine hit the back of the chair, and Leorio shut his eyes for only a moment to steady himself.

 

“There,” Hisoka said, retrieving the glass. “Much better. Open up, my dear. Drink every last drop. It’ll help you cope for now.” With a hand cupping the back of Leorio’s neck, Hisoka tilted back his head and held the glass to his lips.

 

Leorio’s suspicions were confirmed at the smell: straight, strong vodka. When the liquid hit the back of his throat, he sputtered, and Hisoka stopped pouring for a moment.

 

“Now, now,” Hisoka chided. “We don’t want any to go to waste, do we?”

 

With burning throat, Leorio pressed his lips closed, blinking back tears. Leorio wasn’t a lightweight, nor was he an amateur. But he had no desire to down a glass of that size. He could feel the bile rising in his throat at the thought.

 

Hisoka cocked his head, leering down. “What’s the matter, Leorio?” he said wistfully. “Are you frightened? Perhaps you’ve realized that Kurapika might not come at all?”

 

Leorio, without thinking, grew very still, held his breath and stiffened his limbs.

 

“Poor thing,” Hisoka said, a strong note of insincerity seasoning his voice. “Yes, that would be _devastating_ , wouldn’t it? What would happen to you if he did not come? We’ve considered the possibility. Personally, I believe it to be likely. Given Kurapika’s… _record_ , he isn’t one to risk his own life for anyone else’s.” Noting the tension in Leorio’s features—the slight twitch in his lips, the wavering look in his eyes—Hisoka frowned, almost mockingly, and crouched beside him. “Or have you been holding out, convinced that he’s coming to save you? That you’re _special_ to him? That he cares for you?”

 

When Hisoka laughed and rose again, Leorio ground his teeth together, furious energy coursing through his confined limbs. “Shut up,” he growled. Speaking took a considerable amount of effort, but he managed, disregarding the pain in his lungs as he inhaled fully. “I don’t care what happens. I’m not… afraid of you.” The lies were painfully obvious to both of them.

 

Before Leorio’s eyes registered the motion, Hisoka reached for Leorio and forced Leorio’s jaw shut, fingers wrapped beneath Leorio’s chin and a thumb pressing his cheek against his teeth hard enough to bruise. Leorio swallowed, air hissing through his nose. “Are you an optimist, Leorio?” Hisoka asked, his smallest finger scraping back and forth across Leorio’s throat like a pendulum, the sharp fingernail agitating the flesh. “I could break your jaw into so many jagged pieces that you could never close your lips again. I could pluck each tooth from your mouth, one at a time, and slice off your tongue bit by bit. How would you feel then? Would you still have the nerve to talk back to me?” Shaking his head as though addressing an impertinent child, Hisoka shifted his hand so that he could pry apart Leorio’s mouth with his thumb and index finger, just enough that he could pour without wasting too much. “Now, be sure to swallow it all. We wouldn’t want you to drown, would we?”

 

Though his wrists throbbed with every movement, Leorio could feel his fingers trembling, his body reacting in spite of his courage, fleeting as it was. He stifled a pathetic whimper, bit his cheek to silence himself and tasted blood.

 

Hisoka appeared pleased and brought the glass to Leorio’s lips once more, hitting his teeth. The bitter drink coated Leorio’s tongue; he obediently and fearfully swallowed. “Good boy,” Hisoka cooed. Patiently, he tipped the glass further, filling Leorio’s mouth, until he’d drained it. Some dribbled down Leorio’s chin, but Hisoka didn’t bother wiping it away, just released his bruising hold and smirked.

 

As the last swallow burned a path down Leorio’s throat, he coughed, uncomfortable heat and creeping pain nesting against his lower ribs. Nausea threatened to seize up his stomach, but he fought it, swallowing hard and fast. On each labored inhalation, his body quivered, his nose stinging and cheeks burning. Leorio didn’t think it was enough to shut down his organs, but he considered that the severity of his injuries and the shock of it all might mix poorly.

 

As Leorio bowed his head to gather himself, Hisoka returned to the table, set the glass down hard enough to crack it, and inspected the watch. He frowned. “Chrollo’s late,” he said. Turning back to Leorio, the corners of his lips curled upward, cheeks curving the flesh beneath his eyes. His tongue flicked out, snaking along his upper lip. “Well, we can find some way to pass the time, I’m sure.”

 

Something in the way Hisoka spoke sent a chill down Leorio’s spine, made his heart race painfully. Even though he knew he’d only hurt himself further, Leorio was overwhelmed with the sudden desire to struggle, to tear at his restraints with no regard for his broken bones. His breathing became more strenuous as he tried to suppress the urge.

 

Hisoka wore a victorious expression.

 

The door behind Leorio slammed open, letting faint light spill into the room. With an almost disappointed sigh, Hisoka took a step forward. “Chrollo, there you are. I was wondering how long you’d keep me waiting.” He stretched out his hands, spreading his fingers, in greeting, and waited for a response.

 

But no answer came. Hisoka squinted at the doorway and straightened, growing solemn. “You’re early."

 

Kurapika stood in the doorway, hair disheveled and his tie loose, panting. Leorio lifted his head at the sound of grating metal, let his cheek rest on his shoulder to look back. When he saw a body standing there, he forced his eyes to focus. There, haloed in dim orange light, was Kurapika—sweat on his brow and eyes burning, taking in the room. Leorio felt all the air in his lungs slip through his teeth and between his parted lips.

 

“Kurapika,” he managed to say. He barely noticed the way Kurapika stiffened, his teeth grinding and tendons tensing against bone. “You came.”

 

“Of course I did,” he said, and his tone was sinisterly level, tinged with just enough concern. He moved into the room, watching Hisoka. “Did you think I’d abandon you?”

 

“I considered it.”

 

“You should value yourself more.” The growing tenderness there carried the words to Leorio, pressed into his skin as comfort, as reassurance. Leorio sighed, closing his eyes at the wave of vertigo which made the room waver. Kurapika inched closer with careful steps, unblinking. “I’m here now. You’ll be all right.”

 

Hisoka had narrowed his eyes but stayed still. “Where’s Chrollo?”

 

“He’s been taken care of,” Kurapika said. He raised a hand, flashed a smudge of blood on his knuckles as he brushed his hair from his face. “Now, how will this play out, Hisoka? Will you be agreeable, _for old time’s sake_?” The phrase seemed laced with venom, hissed through teeth, words with jagged edges scraping past his lips.

 

Hisoka laughed. “Unfortunately, I’ve been paid enough to follow through. I can’t compromise my morals, can I?”

 

By Leorio’s side, Kurapika dared to reach with steady fingers, to smooth back Leorio’s hair. Without looking at him, Kurapika lifted his jaw before speaking. “I’ll apologize later,” he said. Bearing a partial, momentary smile, he continued, “I suppose it would be foolish to ask if you’re all right.”

 

To his surprise, Leorio laughed, wincing at the pain. “You think?”

 

“Glad to see you’ve kept your sense of humor.”

 

“Give me a break,” Leorio said, grimacing. “What else could I do?” He paused, smiling in spite of himself. “Show a little _mercy…_ won’t you?”

 

At the sound of the word, Kurapika shut his eyes and tilted his head only for a moment, as if stifling an unpleasant emotion. He let his fingers trail down the side of Leorio’s face, turning to him. Upon seeing the blooming bruises, the drying blood, Kurapika swallowed, setting his jaw firmly. “I’ll get you out of here soon. Hold on for a little longer. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

 

Leorio smirked, straightening his spine as much as he could. “I’ll do my best. But if you can—hurry.”

 

“How sweet,” Hisoka said, drawing Kurapika’s eyes. “Have you already forgotten about me, Kurapika? I’m hurt.”

 

“I really don’t have time for this, Hisoka.” Kurapika drew his pistol, trained it on Hisoka’s chest. “I’d prefer if you surrendered.”

 

Hisoka wrinkled his nose. “A gun? How boorish. Where are your ropes, Kurapika?”

 

Kurapika cocked the gun, hands steady. “I’m not in the mood.”

 

Craning his neck to inspect the items on Kurapika’s waist, Hisoka stepped forward. “Yet you brought them anyway? What’s your plan, I wonder.”

 

“Take another step forward, and I will shoot, Hisoka.”

 

Hisoka paused, folding his hands behind his back. “An empty threat,” he said, sighing dejectedly. “I know you don’t like to take lives. Not since you lost your last partner. What a shame. He was so young. Barely put up a fight. Chrollo said it was a waste of his time, but I think it was worth it to see you break.”

 

Kurapika’s fingers twitched. “ _Hisoka_ —”

 

Before Kurapika could finish, Hisoka lunged forward, a knife flashing in his hand. As if unfazed, Kurapika released the gun and reached for the rope at his hip, unraveling it smoothly but without flourish. Hisoka’s eyes were ravenous, wide and bloodthirsty, yet Kurapika retained his cool demeanor, shoulders relaxing with the familiar material in hand.

 

As Hisoka slashed at Kurapika’s face, Kurapika dodged, raising his arms to catch Hisoka’s wrists in an intricate rope web. With a sharp and simple motion, Kurapika snapped the rope tight against Hisoka’s skin and twisted.

 

The knife was forced from his hold, but Hisoka was far from finished. He kicked out, aiming for Kurapika’s knee. Kurapika leapt off the floor, delivering a swift blow with his heel to Hisoka’s chest, dead center, knocking the air from his lungs. Hisoka toppled backward, legs bent beneath him, and Kurapika landed atop him, crouching, pinning Hisoka’s thighs to the floor with his weight. Hisoka splayed his fingers, humming to express defeat.

 

“Why did you give up?” Kurapika said as he tied the rope in a knot. “That was hardly your best effort.”

 

Shrugging as best he could while sprawled on the ground, Hisoka said, “Must have been the rope. Got a bit nostalgic—a little excited.”

 

“Shut up,” Kurapika said, standing but keeping enough pressure on Hisoka’s body to keep him in place. He rolled Hisoka over onto his stomach and worked quickly, tying limbs together and yanking the ends of the rope to tighten the knots. When Hisoka let a quiet moan escape his lips, Kurapika pressed a heel against the back of his head, ground it in, eyes flashing. “Don’t make another sound. You’re damn lucky today, Hisoka.”

 

“You’ve grown soft.”

 

Kurapika struck Hisoka in the side with his boot, audibly cracking ribs with the blow. Hisoka choked on his pained laughter. “What did I _just_ say?” When Hisoka did not cease, simply groaned in agonized delight, Kurapika grit his teeth and kicked again, harder, hitting bone and muscle, his breath escaping his lungs in forceful bursts. He brought his foot back against, vision blurred.

 

“ _Kurapika_.” Leorio’s tone was not aggressive. It wasn’t fearful or reprimanding. All Kurapika could hear in Leorio’s voice was quiet desperation. “Please. Please stop.”

 

At once, inexplicably, the raging fury drained from Kurapika, leaving him weary and unstable. He stepped back from Hisoka, clutching his forehead and exhaling heavily. When he’d steadied himself, he lowered his hand, fingers trembling, and walked directly toward Leorio. As he moved, two additional, familiar bodies appeared in the doorway. Kurapika gestured behind him with his hand, and the two small, wiry newcomers darted past him, as if racing. Their conversation was rife with energy and seemed almost lighthearted, but Kurapika heard nothing.

 

In silence, he withdrew a pocket knife and slit the rope binding Leorio’s limbs. Leorio painfully lifted his hands, brought them forward and held them, limply, between his legs. Kurapika watched the labored motion, grimaced at the swollen purple joints. Before speaking, Kurapika circled around and knelt before Leorio, a weighty sigh sagging his shoulders. He forced himself to look into Leorio’s eyes, scanned his face and made note of every injury. When Leorio opened his mouth to speak, Kurapika shook his head, then reached up and gently, gingerly cupped Leorio’s face. His touch was spectral, fingers grazing the stubble and the bruises there. Leorio couldn’t prevent the tears from spilling, catching where Kurapika’s fingers aligned with his skin.

 

“Leorio,” Kurapika said, stroking his cheek. An anguished smile of relief transformed Kurapika’s features, made them soft and more human. “I’m sorry I was so late. We’ve got an ambulance waiting outside. We’ll take care of you.” If Leorio hadn’t been staring at Kurapika’s eyes—the fierce emotions brewing there, burning like coal and cinders—he might not have noticed their uncharacteristic wetness, the tears forming along his lashes.

 

Leorio leaned forward, resting his forehead against Kurapika’s shoulder, and sighed, the sound sharper than normal. “Bastard,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “I’m just glad you came at all.”

 

Kurapika felt his body move, knew that he couldn’t stop himself, but managed to exact enough control over his muscles to avoid injuring Leorio any further. Avoiding Leorio’s wrists, Kurapika wrapped his arms up between Leorio’s chest and arms, clinging to his back just enough to spread warmth through his palms. He let out a shaky breath onto Leorio’s neck. “I thought—for a while—that I might have lost you. That scared me more than I can say.”

 

Leorio fell comfortably into Kurapika’s embrace, numbed to the most persistent pain and safe, safe at last. He waited a moment, savoring the sensation, before speaking. “Can I ask a favor?”

 

“Anything,” Kurapika said, a little too quickly. He pulled back enough to gaze into Leorio’s eyes. “Well, maybe not _anything_. Anything within reason.”

 

Leorio laughed, pinching his brows together at the sharp pain until it faded. “Don’t leave me,” he said once he’d recovered. “Just because this happened… I don’t think I could bear that.”

 

Kurapika took a moment to consider, then nodded. “I won’t,” he said. “I promise. I’ll stay with you. I’ll take responsibility.”

 

When Kurapika felt Leorio slump into him a few seconds later, his breathing even though a little quiet, Kurapika freed a hand to wave over one of his companions, a young man with spiked dark hair and a surprisingly cheerful disposition. He contacted the ambulance staff through a handheld radio, and shortly after, medics bearing a stretcher entered.

 

Kurapika rose once they arrived—gave them space to work, gave himself room to breathe. They lay him on the stretcher, careful not to agitate his injuries. Before taking him out to the ambulance, they checked on Hisoka, assessing his condition to determine whether additional staff would be necessary.

 

At their temporary absent, Kurapika crouched by Leorio’s side, watched the uneven rise and fall of his chest, the flush of his cheek. Even from his distance, Kurapika could smell the alcohol permeating the air from his tongue, from his pores. Kurapika trailed his fingers across Leorio’s forehead, the motion tender, and felt for fever. The heat rising from his skin deepened Kurapika’s frown.

 

Resisting the urge to take Leorio’s hand, Kurapika bent to place a kiss, soft and sweet to Leorio’s temple. The medics returned, and Kurapika stood up, dismissing the momentary lightheadedness which accompanied the action. He watched them strap Leorio to the simple device, securing him as he slept.

 

“Take good care of him,” Kurapika said as the medics hoisted the stretcher. They turned to him, as though anticipating elaboration. “He’s important.” Kurapika pursed his lips at the inaccuracy. “And I care about him deeply. Please, treat him well. I’ll follow you to the hospital. I’m counting on you.”

 

The medics nodded as officers entered the room to account for the hog-tied Hisoka. Kurapika disregarded them all, staring after Leorio’s silent form for a moment before chasing after. He had calmed his emotions, leveled his breathing. But the racing of his heart was not spurred by adrenaline and fear of losing Leorio. Suit jacket parting away from his stomach as he ran, Kurapika smiled, overcome with gratitude and a strange realization.

  
The act of rescuing Leorio even overshadowed the capture and imprisonment of two of the city’s most prominent criminals. What to make of _that_ , Kurapika decided not to consider—not yet.

 

* * *

 

I'm not adding a recipe here. I do not recommend drinking straight vodka, especially in large quantities, to  _anyone_. Don't do it. It's gross.

Also, please drink responsibly! Take care of yourselves. If you're gonna drink straight anything, at least try to follow up with a chaser. Treat your bodies  _right_. Mixed drinks (or wine) is the way to go for an enjoyable, manageable time.

Okay, that's enough lecture for this chapter. :P


	7. The Harvest

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Kurapika sighed, leaning back against the uncomfortable chair. Through the window behind him, sunlight streamed in, pooling on the hospital bed and spilling over Leorio’s covered knees, like sun-dappled mountains.

 

“I already told you,” Kurapika said. “I work as a private detective. I’ve been chasing Chrollo for years, trying to catch him. That’s all there is.”

 

“No, no,” Leorio said, wagging his finger—pathetically, without causing further harm to his wrists—before crossing his arms as best he could. “That’s too simple. You’re saying you refused to tell me about your work because you’re a wannabe Sherlock? I can’t accept that. It’s stupid.”

 

“Look,” Kurapika said. The dark circles under his eyes did not impede his level voice, nor did they diminish his gentle smile. “I don’t like to talk about work. It’s dangerous—”

 

“Clearly.”

 

“—and I wasn’t always on this side of the law,” Kurapika finished. At Leorio’s inquisitive expression, Kurapika leaned forward, eyes darting to the door. “Believe it or not, but I used to be involved with the mafia.”

 

Leorio donned a blank stare and blinked slowly. “You?” he finally said. “ _You_ were in the mafia.”

 

“Is it really so hard to believe?”

 

With a partial shrug, Leorio said, “Just not sure why you left. I bet the pay was good. It’s a lucrative business, isn’t it?”

 

Pressing his lips into a line, Kurapika folded his hands behind his head. “Very. But it wasn’t for me,” he said. “Evidently, I have morals, and that doesn’t bode well with people like Chrollo.”

 

“But he’s locked up now, right?”

 

“Oh, yes,” Kurapika said, unable to hide his delight. The smile he wore was almost sinister, but in a way, it held a childlike glee. “He’s awaiting his trial. He could pay off the judge to get out of his sentencing, but I doubt he will. He has _some_ principles, I’ll grant him that.”

 

A sharp rapping on the door interrupted their conversation, and a nurse entered, bearing food and Leorio’s prescription. The woman said nothing, nodded when she left, and closed the door behind her. Leorio inspected the orange bottle, read the label with careful precision. In the welcome silence, Kurapika watched him, noted the healthy color in his cheeks and the mellow look in his eyes. It was almost as if the events two days earlier hadn’t happened. If not for the casts and bandages, the scarring tissue and the bruises, Kurapika might have been able to believe it.

 

When Leorio lifted his eyes, Kurapika didn’t look away. Framed by the window and haloed by the mid-afternoon sun—gold-touched strands of hair, skin trimmed in light—and as exhausted as he was, he seemed almost ethereal to Leorio. With his hands, bruised knuckles and pale fingers, folded before his lips, Kurapika looked at Leorio in a curious, almost-awed way. He blinked, and the uncertain emotion vanished.

 

Kurapika looked toward the door, his thoughts nearly visible. “Should I contact anyone for you?” he asked. “Any relatives? Do you have a—”

 

“No,” Leorio said. “There’s no one.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be,” Leorio said with a soft smile. “It’s been that way for a while. I’ve survived.”

 

Staring down at his shoes, Kurapika ran his lips along his finger in contemplation, took the skin of his knuckle between his teeth. “You won’t have anyone…” He stopped himself, touched the tips of his fingers together before his face. “How will you manage?”

 

Reclining back into the pillows, Leorio peered at Kurapika with a smile hinging on smug. “Didn’t you say that you’d take responsibility?” he said.

 

Kurapika grew still, lifted his face. He bore a strange expression—widened eyes and parted lips and the faintest glow of warmth flush across his nose. Drawing in his lower lip for a moment, Kurapika nodded. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

 

“So you’ll cover the hospital bills?” Leorio said.

 

Kurapika blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“You know, as a bartender, I really don’t make that much, and my insurance isn’t exactly going to account for—” At Kurapika’s unreadable expression, Leorio paused. Frowning, Leorio scrunched his nose. “Is that… not what you had in mind?”

 

As Kurapika stared at Leorio, realization dawned on him, and he straightened, mouth agape. There was no mistaking the blatant blush which spread to his ears, colored them bright pink, and he wrapped a hand around his mouth. “Well, I—I mean you—” He cleared his throat, caught his tongue between molars, and composed himself. “I can take care of that, yes.”

 

The abnormal tension in his shoulders, how he fidgeted, struck Leorio dumb. He looked at Kurapika expectantly.

 

Finally, Kurapika spoke. “Is that all?”

 

“What?”

 

“Paying bills—is that all you want?” The sudden sharpness of his voice brought silence. He wet his lips and folded his hands, laying them on his lap. “Listen, Leorio. After you’re released, why don’t you… come stay with me for a little while?”

 

Leorio sank deeper into the pillows, stunned. The proposition hung in the air, with the humming fluorescents, as Leorio processed it. All at once, he felt heat color his skin, and he jerked his hands up to dismiss the offer, wincing at the motion. Before he could speak, Kurapika had leapt from his chair, its steal legs tottering, and gripped Leorio’s forearms, avoiding the IV and bandages. The action had been impulsive, sent Kurapika’s heart into panic.

 

“Be _careful_ ,” he said, letting his thumbs stroke the smooth underside of Leorio’s arms.

 

“I am _injured_ ,” Leorio sputtered, at nearly the same time. When Kurapika met his stare with a blank look, Leorio continued. “You want me to… to do—”

 

Kurapika _laughed_ , the sound bright and heaving, filling the room and warming Leorio’s heart. He released Leorio’s arms to press his palms to the mattress, bent so far his hair brushed the blankets. “Oh, you misunderstood,” he said after he caught his breath. “As much as I would love to… _partake_ in such activities with you again, that isn’t what I meant.” When he lifted his face, the smile he wore was sweet and kind, more radiant that the sunlight. “I said… I said I’d take responsibility. So allow me to take care of you, at least until you’re well again. I’ll cook and help with whatever you need, monetary or—or otherwise. Please.”

 

After slowly filling his lungs to the point of almost bursting, Leorio sighed, releasing as much air as he could. “Well,” he said, grinning, “if you insist.”

* * *

“Here’s to your release,” Kurapika said, raising his glass. He sipped the sweet drink, let the scent of cinnamon waft over him, warm him.

 

Beside him, Leorio tapped the lip of the glass, keeping his wrist straight and still with his forearm propped against the edge of the bar. A few weeks had passed since the incident, and though Leorio was a remarkably fast healer, he was determined to take everything slow, lest he wind up back in the hospital. He shuddered at the thought. Turning to Kurapika, he furrowed his brows and said, “I really shouldn’t drink this.”

 

“I already researched your prescriptions,” Kurapika said patiently, licking his lips. “They won’t react poorly.”

 

“That’s not the point.”

 

“Oh?” Kurapika rested his elbow on the bar, cupping his cheek in his palm. “Then what is?”

 

Leorio sighed. “Isn’t it a little early to celebrate? I’m still…” He wasn’t sure why he hesitated, why the only word which came to mind was _broken_. “Kurapika, I really don’t know about this.”

 

With parted lips and tender stare, Kurapika let his gaze drift down Leorio’s face, lingering on his mouth, and followed the toned path of his arms. Kurapika’s eyes lit up. “Ah, I understand. You’re worried about your wrists.”

 

“That’s not—”

 

“Don’t worry,” Kurapika said, rising from his stool. “I promised I’d take care of you. If you need help eating or drinking, dressing or bathing—”

 

“ _Oi_.”

 

“—I’ll be there,” Kurapika finished, slipping his fingers around the slender stem of Leorio’s glass. He raised the glass, and when Leorio stiffened, Kurapika hesitated, remembering the smell of the warehouse, the sting and stench. “I’ll be gentle. Tell me if you want me to stop.”

 

Leorio shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said. “I trust you.”

 

The words were simple, true, but the look in Leorio’s eyes which accompanied them burned with sincerity and so much more. Kurapika, with his left hand, reached for Leorio, slid his fingers along the back of his neck, and brought the drink to his lips. He was careful not to hold it there too long, or tip the glass too much, and when he pulled it away, Leorio swallowed.

 

“It’s good,” Leorio said, leaning back into Kurapika’s hand. “What is it?”

 

Setting the glass down, Kurapika leaned closer. “The Harvest,” he murmured. “I thought you’d like it.”

 

“Kurapika?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You’ve been acting a bit strangely.”

 

Kurapika stroked Leorio’s hair, let his fingertips bend the strands to touch the skin. “Have I?”

 

Though he hesitated, Leorio couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Is it because you feel guilty?”

 

Kurapika stopped moving. “Why would you think that?”

 

“Isn’t that obvious?”

 

To Leorio’s surprise, Kurapika leaned forward, rested his forehead against the soft skin of Leorio’s neck, and sighed. “I did, at first,” he said, the confession labored. “I thought I wanted to make up for what happened to you—because of me. Don’t protest.” Kurapika felt Leorio tense, knew his mouth had opened to speak. “You cannot deny that it was… _almost_ entirely my fault. But I realized, when I found you in the warehouse, that it was more than guilt.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Kurapika grit his teeth, hearing the smugness in Leorio’s tone. But he was too absorbed in the warmth of Leorio’s skin through his shirt—the way his body shifted to accommodate—to feel agitation. “I don’t know what it is,” Kurapika said, his words a whisper. “Maybe it’s that I desire to protect you.”

 

Though Kurapika couldn’t see him, he knew Leorio had rolled his eyes. “Is that really all, Kurapika? After all this, _that’s_ all you’ve got to say?”

 

Pulling back, Kurapika searched Leorio’s face, found teasing accusation and anticipation. “I don’t understand,” he said. Before he could continue, Leorio lifted his arms, draped them over Kurapika’s shoulders to draw him in closer. Kurapika tried to voice his concern— _wrists, Leorio, be careful_ —but Leorio silenced him with a kiss, kind and patient.

 

Until that moment, Kurapika hadn’t realized how little they’d touched—and how much he’d longer for it. He realized at once why Leorio had reacted so much to the stroking of hair, the tiniest gestures of cautious intimacy. Kurapika let one hand rest on Leorio’s thigh and brought up the other to cup Leorio’s cheek, preserving the gentle atmosphere, still fearful of wounding.

 

When Leorio drew back, he lingered close enough to brush noses, to meet Kurapika’s eyes. “Whatever’s compelled you to help me, I appreciate it,” Leorio said. “But if it means you think you’re going to run away as soon as I’m better, I won’t tolerate it.”

 

Kurapika opened his mouth, smacked his lips shut. _Had_ he considered that? Had that ever been an option? He couldn’t be sure. The uncertainty twisted his stomach, drew his lips between teeth.

 

“What I mean is,” Leorio continued, in a voice as stern as a schoolteacher, “we can go slowly, but I’m not willing to let you go. Not without a fight.”

 

Kurapika sucked in a short breath, let it hover and steep, before exhaling, regaining his composure and his sly grin. “Do you think you’re fit to fight? Do you think you could beat me?”

 

But Leorio didn’t back down, showed no hesitation in his eyes. “I couldn’t win,” he said, “but would you even be able to bring yourself to fight me?”

 

The unwavering confidence on Leorio’s face made Kurapika falter, prevented his mouth from moving. His gaze sank to the floor, focusing on the intersection between boards. “No,” he managed to say. “I couldn’t do that.” Lifting his face once more, he couldn’t help but laugh. “You might be the only person…” His voice faded as heat rose to his face, and he turned away, coughing. Fumbling for his pocket watch, he checked the time before standing, allowing Leorio to slide his arms from Kurapika’s shoulders. “We should go. It’s getting late.”

 

Leorio yawned in agreement. “Can’t handle late nights out like I used to.”

 

“It’s nine o’clock.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Shaking his head, Kurapika held Leorio’s coat, easing the sleeves up to his elbows so Leorio could shrug it into place. When Leorio turned around, Kurapika fastened the buttons, working proficiently. “I said we were celebrating, but I still plan on maintaining a strict regimen when it comes to your care.”

 

“Yes, yes. Whatever you say.”

 

“Leorio.”

 

He directed his attention downward, at the earnest, tired eyes and set lips. “Yes?”

 

“I want you to get well again, and soon,” he said, smoothing the rough fabric of Leorio’s coat. “So bear with me.”

 

Leorio smiled, fondness swelling in his chest. “Of course,” he said. “Anything for you.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Kurapika said, ducking by Leorio to hide his heated cheeks. He paused just past him, reached back to pinch his sleeve by the elbow. Their eyes met, something sweet and budding caught in the space between them, and the air grew warmer, lighter, as though gravity lessened its burden just for them, just for that moment. Kurapika’s lips curved upward in tender delight, and Leorio couldn’t help but reciprocate.

 

“Come, Leorio. Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 For the reference of those who are of legal drinking age  **only**.

 

_ The Harvest  _

Ingredients

  * 1.5 oz cognac
  * ½ oz cinnamon syrup
  * 1 _generous_  spoonful of apple butter or apple syrup
  * 1 cinnamon stick



Directions

  * Shake ingredients in a closed container together before pouring
  * Garnish with cinnamon stick… somehow. I guess just stick it in. Lord.
  * Enjoy!



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I can't believe it's come to an end. It's here. That never happens. Endings are HARD.
> 
> I know there are some cliche things here, but I hope you've enjoyed reading! Thank you so so much to everyone who has read, left kudos, written comments, and shared! I appreciate you all SO MUCH.


End file.
